All at Sea
by JACmRob
Summary: Annabeth Chase doesn't know for the life of her how she ended up in Percy's apartment, with his mom feeding them left-over pasta in their small kitchen at two in the morning. A story told by one-shot songfics. Percabeth.
1. Watch the Sky

**A/N: So this is my first story for PJO, but i've had the idea bottled up for a while. It's a series of oneshot songfics that follow a story line. I got the idea based off a playlist I created. It takes place between BotL and the Last Olympian. Sorry if it's a bit OC, but I just love an angsty Percy. I'm also a major Percabeth shipper, so that's what this fic is pretty much wrapped around. (Sorry to anyone who likes Rachel, but gah! I can't stand her!) The rating is for some mild language and mature themes. **

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**Chapter 1: Watch the Sky, by Something Corporate** (A/N: I suggest listening to the songs. They're all really good and tie in really well to the story)

_I'm lost at sea, the radio is jamming but they won't find me_

_I swear it's for the best, and then your frequency,_

_Is pulling me in closer 'til I'm home._

Percy rubs his eyes. He's home, but it doesn't feel like home. It shouldn't be this hard, to relax, to unwind, to feel…normal. He's back from camp, and he'll be going back to school, taking driver's ed, and having to act like a regular teenager again, especially with his mom's new fiancé.

But it seemed harder than ever, to get back into the rhythm of normal, non-halfblood life. And all he can think about is the summer's struggles, about how he just turned fifteen and suddenly the world feels like a ticking time-bomb, about Annabeth leaving him on half-blood hill, her back turned, barely saying goodbye, and the future closing in on him like a hungry parasite…

He rolls over on his bed and tries to sleep. The digital clock reads 2:41, but despite the exhaustion seeping through his limbs, he stays awake.

_I've been up for days, I finally lost my mind and then I lost my way,_

_I'm blistered but I'm better and I'm home_

And now, not for the first time, his thoughts stray to Calypso.

Sometimes, sometimes it feels like he's made the biggest mistake of his life. He's never admitted that to anyone, and he won't, because they would think him a coward for wanting to run away. But you can't change the past, and Percy knows this better than anyone. All he can do is wonder what would have happened if he'd picked what was easy (for once) over what was right. Sometimes he wishes he could just be the coward.

Surrendering, he climbs out of bed. He hasn't slept much at all, lately, so why bother trying now? Quietly, he climbs out of his window and hoists himself up onto the fire escape staircase.

He's so tired of always having to be the hero, even though he knows it's who he is. He swings his legs off the platform, above the street four stories down, and looks up at the stars. In the city they're so dim and far away, unlike on Calypso's island.

In the end, there's nothing more to do than to live the life he'd been given. It was all anyone could do. And he's going to fight—it's what he'd do, prophecy or not. But he would prefer _not_. He doesn't have a choice in who he it—he's been screwed over since the day Poseidon met his mother on the beach. But he feels so paralyzed thinking about the future, so trapped inside his own head. Sometimes all he can do is sit still, wishing time would stop moving.

He hates thinking about the future, but he also can't stand the past. He hates regretting.

_I will crawl, there's thing that are worth giving up, I know,_

_But I won't let this get me—I will fight_

_You live the life you're given with the storms outside_

_Somedays all I do is watch the sky._

A/N: Please review! I'd love you forever and ever if you did. 3 There will be more Percabeth in future chapters. (those two are _so_ cute!)

--JR

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	2. I Miss You

A/N: New chapter! Oh, and I forgot- Disclaimer: I own neither Percy Jackson nor any of the songs I use.

**

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**

**Chapter Two: I Miss You, by Blink-182**

_Where are you? And I'm so sorry  
I cannot sleep, I cannot dream tonight_

It had been three days, seven hours, and sixteen minutes since he'd last slept. He gulped his second coffee of the morning and tried to focus on the teacher droning in front of him. _Blah blah blah, blah, bla-blah blah, blah …_ He shook his head, trying to clear it. The teacher most definitely wasn't saying _that_. Percy took another gulp of coffee. Keep it together, he told himself sternly. He'd become somewhat addicted to caffeine of late, but it was all that got him through the day thanks to his skewed sleeping schedule.

His mother had noticed—he'd seen her talking worriedly to Paul one morning before hastily clearing her throat and asking in an overly-cheery voice what he'd like for breakfast. It was all the confirmation he'd needed--she never made him breakfast. But really, he'd be surprised if she didn't notice. Maybe if he botoxed out the dark bags under his eyes, or something.

He found himself thinking about Annabeth. Again. They hadn't talked, despite his numerous attempts to call her. He wanted to fix things between them, but it seemed like there was this ever-growing rift as high as the Berlin wall that was always in the middle. It was all so difficult now, in a way it had never been.

Not to mention the butterflies that swarmed like an angry mob in his stomach when ever he thought about her…

"Mr. Jackson, are you paying attention?" the teacher snapped.

"What?" he said, jerking his head up in surprise. Oh, crap.

"I asked you a question."

"Um, I'm not feeling too well," he lied. It was only first period but the thought trying to sit through the rest of the school day was too daunting. "Can I go to the nurse?"

The teacher raised an eyebrow.

"Very well."

He grabbed his books and stalked out of the room, out of the hall, and right out of the school. _Central park, here I come…_

_  
I need somebody and always  
This sick, strange darkness  
Comes creeping on, so haunting every time_

He just needed to talk to her. That was all he needed. To talk, like they hadn't in ages. He needed someone to take his mind off of everything else. He looked up at the overcast New York sky. Suffocating thoughts surfaced in his mind, the ones that mocked him from the darkness of his sleepless nights; angry, terrifying thoughts, as rampant as a disease. He forced himself to shut them out and focus on something else. One problem at a time.

You know what Annabeth would say, he told himself. "Stop being a Seaweed Brain and just deal with it, you idiot." And then she'd punch him. Was it wierd that he actually _missed_ being physically assaulted by her?

But she was so distant now—was it Rachel Elizabeth Dare, or was it still about Luke? Luke, who had betrayed them, who had put the weight of the sky on her shoulders, who she still loved (and just the thought of it made his heart sink into the pit of his stomach) and finally accepted that she couldn't save. And it was killing her.

He dialed her number.

_And as I stared I counted  
Webs from all the spiders  
Catching things, and eating their insides  
Like indecision to call you  
and hear your voice of treason  
Will you come home and stop this pain tonight?  
Stop this pain tonight._

_  
_

He tried to remember when things had gotten so complicated. It used to be effortless. It used to be the easiest thing in the world, to laugh together, to insult each other, just to be friends. Suddenly, it was like they were strangers. He didn't remember it being this hard.

"Hey, it's Annabeth! I'm not here right now, so leave a message and I'll…"

Percy sighed.

_Beep._

"Hey, Annabeth. It's me. Percy. I'm just calling to… just to say hi. I just wanted to talk, you know? Even though I've called, like, a million times before this, so you must be getting pretty pissed off with me. Oh, crap. I forgot! It's, like, five in the morning there, isn't it? That's me, being a stupid Seaweed brain, and forgetting the time zone differences. I can only picture the look on your face. Anyway, I just wanted to talk, as previously mentioned. I mean, I guess I just wanted to say that I—"

_Beep._

"Miss you," he finished quietly to himself, hanging up the phone.

_  
Don't waste your time on me you're already  
The voice inside my head (I miss you, I miss you)_

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A/N: please review! I tried to lighten the tone, but as you can see, didn't really get anywhere. I'm such an angst-lover. Did anyone else see the kid whose going to play Percy in the movie? He is _such_ a cutie! (though I don't anticipate it actually being a good film) Annabeth is like six-feet-tall and brown-haired and horrible. So dissapointed.

Thoughts?

--JR


	3. Adam's Song

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Chapter 3: Adam's Song by Blink-182

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_I never thought I'd die alone  
I laughed the loudest, who'd have known  
I traced the cord back to the wall  
No wonder it was never plugged in at all  
I took my time, I hurried up  
The choice was mine, I didn't think enough  
I'm too depressed, to go on  
You'll be sorry when I'm gone._

_  
_

"Name: Percy Jackson. Fifteen-year-old Caucasian male, blood type AB. Status: stable. Found in his home unconscious and in respiratory distress after overdosing on sleeping pills. Attempted suicide is likely—"

"I _wasn't_ trying to kill myself," Percy stated. He mother was sitting by his bedside, face white, lips pursed, eyes wide. Paul was pacing by the window. "Mom. You have to believe me!"

"Young man, why else would you swallow twelve pills?" the doctor said. Percy's dislike to him increased by the second. The hospital room, with its sterilized sheets and pillows, and white walls, and iv drips was making his skin crawl.

"I was _trying_ to sleep."

None of them said anything.

"Why does that sound so crazy? I'm telling the truth!"

"Percy…" his mother began resignedly, rubbing her face in her hands.

"_Why_ would I try and kill myself?" he interjected angrily.

"Percy we're only worried about you—you have no idea how frightened we were, and…"

"Mrs. Jackson," the doctor began, "We're going to keep him overnight for observation, and I recommend a psyche consult." His mother nodded. A _psyche_ consult? No freakin' way. His hands clenched into fists. Why wouldn't they believe him? The jack-ass doctor left the room.

"Mom—" Percy began angrily. He tried again more levelly. "Mom." He glanced at Paul and lowered his voice. "I really just haven't been able to sleep. For days. That's all I was trying to do—sleep. And apparently sleeping pills have no effect on—" He wanted to say 'half-bloods,' but he saw Paul through the corner of his eye watching them. "—Me."

His mother pulled his hand into hers, rubbing it gently, but said nothing. He felt angry, but at the same time, empty. Drained. He could deal with his screwed up problems if everyone around him acted normal and had no idea. What he couldn't deal with was other people, people who didn't understand, knowing. In his mind's eye, he pictured one of those cartoon storm clouds floating over his head.

Stupid crap life. With his free hand he picked at his sheets. The antiseptic smell of the hospital was making him sick. It was high and time to get the hell out of Dodge. His mother smoothed back his hair, stroking his cheek in that sickening motherly way, the way that made him feel so damn guilty about lying. She gently pressed her lips to his forehead.

He hadn't told her about the prophecy. How could he? What would he possibly say? "Thanks for dinner mom, and oh, by the way, the fate of the world as we know it rests on my shoulders, so let's hope I don't screw up or anything!" He was happier with her not knowing.

The cartoon storm cloud began dumping cartoon rain on him.

Wallowing in self pity had become more and more his thing, recently. 'Brooding' his mother called it.

He couldn't let her deal with it, not when he wasn't sure he could deal with it himself. More than anything, he wanted to talk to Annabeth or Grover, he best friends. Well, he thought they'd been. Even Grover seemed to be getting more distant lately—tied up in his proclaiming the message of Pan, and his relationship with Juniper. Stupid so-called-friends. Stupid insomnia. Stupid prophecy.

He wasn't really wallowing anymore, so much as drowning in self pity. It felt pathetic, but it was easier to blame others than himself.

A cartoon bolt of lighting struck his head.

There was no way to get out of his crap life, or his crap future. And he'd never felt more alone.

__

I never conquered, rarely came  
Sixteen just held such better days  
Days when I still felt alive  
We couldn't wait to get outside  
The world was wide, too late to try  
The tour was over, we'd survived  
I couldn't wait till I got home  
To pass the time in my room alone.

******

A/N: Another chapter up. I'm so proud of myself for updating quickly- usually it takes me, like, a month. Please review!

--JR

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	4. Better Together

**Chapter 4: Better Together, by Jack Johnson**

_All of these moments just might find a way into my dreams tonight_

_But I know that they'll be gone_

_When the morning light sings_

_And brings new things_

"You stupid, unintelligent, moronic, completely dense, ultra-Seaweed Brain!"

Despite the ranting voice on the phone, for the first time in days he smiled.

"I finally decide to call you (not that I was avoiding your calls or anything) and then your mother tells me you're in the hospital! The freakin' hospital! Because you overdosed on freakin' sleeping pills like the complete idiot-Seaweed Brain you are!"

"It's good to hear from you, too, Annabeth," Percy said.

"Oh don't give me that crap," she said dangerously.

"It really was an accident," he persisted earnestly. "No one else believed me—they all think I'm suicidal."

"Are you?"

"No!" he said angrily. "I just haven't been sleeping lately."

"That makes two of us," she disclosed. He raised an eyebrow.

"You didn't sleep in seven days?"

"Well… no," she admitted. "Wow… geez Percy, what is going on with you?"

"I wish I knew," he muttered. A pause.

"So…" she said uncomfortably.

"So…" he countered clumsily.

After the initial greetings, it became apparent how long it had been since they'd talked. Suddenly, The Rift was back. He'd never faced an awkward silence with her before. He realized just how much they'd grown apart.

"What's new with you?" she tried. "Besides being hospitalized, I mean," she corrected quickly.

"Oh, um, nothing much," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. "Suffering through school, you know, the usual."

"Oh." Another pause. He could feel there was something more she was getting at. "Not hanging out with Rachel?"

It was that.

"Yeah, we went on a date." The phrase was blurted out before his mental censor had time to stop it. Stupid! Stupid! Crap.

"Oh?" her voice was suddenly icy. "How'd that go?"

"It was…" he searched for the right words. "…A complete fiasco, now that you mention it."

"Do tell." Some of the ice had melted from her voice, like she'd just been stuck microwave.

"Well, um, we went to a Save the Trees rally at Central Park where I realized we share almost nothing in common besides her leading us through the labyrinth. So we stood awkwardly holding picket signs trying to talk about normal things, during which I let slip that I really didn't give a crap about saving trees."

"Continue." Her voice was definitely defrosted now. He felt a grin slipping onto his face thinking about the absurdity of the night (although it had been nothing short of humiliating at the time).

"And then we went to this burger place, and after her second burger she started feeling sick, and threw up on my shoes, and…"

He was laughing now. Annabeth was too.

"What else?"

"When I finally brought her home—it's not funny, it really isn't—" he was struggling to keep it together. "She tried kiss me, and… and… smacked me in the nose so that it started bleeding!"

Annabeth let out a shriek of mirth, which led him to explode with laughter. The two of them collapsed in hysterics. Percy clutched his side and laughed until his cheeks were rolling with tears. He heard Annabeth over the phone—

"Agh… my ribs…ha haha…" Which only set him into another fit. By the time he'd stopped he was gulping down deep breaths of air. He wiped his cheeks.

"'ts really not funny… really isn't…"

"So how's your nose?" That sobered him up.

"Shut up." He was smiling, wider than he'd smiled in weeks. It felt like the greatest thing in the world, just to laugh. Just to laugh with Annabeth over something stupid.

"Gods, it's so good to talk to you again," she said.

"I know…" And suddenly, The Rift had lessened. He could unload all his problems on Annabeth, and unwind, and admit everything that had been keeping him awake at night, but he didn't want to. Instead, he decided for this moment, just to let all of that go. He decided to enjoy this rare moment of happiness, and just being with her. So he said,

"I missed you, Wise Girl."

"I missed you too, Seaweed Brain."

_It's not always easy 'cause sometimes life can be deceiving_

_I tell you one thing it's always better when we're together_

_Mmm, we're somewhere in between together_

_Well, it's always better when we're together,_

_Yeah, it's always better when we're together._

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A/N: I _love_ Percy and Annabeth, they are so cute. Speaking of which, I read Last Olympian and it was _so good_! I really hope Rick Riordan writes more books. What'd you guys think of this chapter? Please review! Oh and thank you to everyone who has reviewed, sorry I don't answer any of them. I mean to, but I never find the time.

--JR


	5. Cell Phone

**Chapter Five: Cell Phone, by Jack's Mannequin**

_I have become increasingly_

_Overwhelmed, but not discouraged_

_Soon I will leave the infirmary_

_Feeling well, but_

_Lacking courage, courage_

I flipped open my phone to check the time. Eleven twenty-one. I was nearly done with my homework, at least. I would have abandoned it long ago, if my English teacher hadn't warned me that with one more late assignment I would be failing the class.

After being released from the hospital, returning to school was hell. I hadn't sat down for five minutes when all the whispering started. Everybody suddenly knew me as the depressed kid who finally snapped and tried to kill himself. It took all of myself control not to turn around and shout, "Mind your own damn business!" whenever I felt their eyes boring into the back of my head, but that probably wouldn't have helped the mentally-unstable image.

Rubbing my eyes tiredly, I turned back to the text.

Macbeth was a nightmare to read, even if you weren't dyslexic. Of course, the dyslexia was just an added benefit in How to Fail British Lit 101.

"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,  
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day  
To the last syllable of recorded time,  
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools  
The way to dusty death."

_What? _It'd take me forever to interpret what ever the hell _that_ meant. Once you got past all the flowery language and dramatic monologues, though, the play it's self wasn't so bad. See, Macbeth was some poor bastard who had all this ambition of becoming king and saving the world and stuff. But then he started killing people to get what he wanted and pretty soon he was this out-of-control psycho-tyrant who everyone wanted dead. So it really sucked, because he started out the hero but somewhere along the way went wrong and it all went downhill from there.

Man, I could relate. Macbeth was like Luke, which I guess made me Macduff. If, you know, my life was some Shakespearean play. Although that wouldn't be so bad—I'd end up killing him and being crowned king. Sweet, right?

My cell phone beeped and lit up. I flipped it open. _One new text message: Wise Girl._

_What's up?_

_Nothing much, _I typed._ Killing myself trying to study Macbeth._

_Isn't the language just beautiful?_

I snorted. _Well when I'm dead I'll let Shakespeare compose my epithet. "Here lies Percy, who met untimely end, through the hell-wrought pages of my play."_

_You know, intelligent people actually enjoy reading it._

_Your support is extremely helpful in the writing of my paper, Annabeth,_ I typed sarcastically.

_And she is gonna ring me up_

_On my cellular phone_

_So I know I'm not alone,_

_In a world full of vampires_

_Come on, honey, talk me down_

_On that cellular phone_

'_Cause I can't get home—_

_I'm a slave to the wires_

Annabeth was probably the only friend I had right now who didn't think I was unstable. She understood how stressed I was. As much as I hated unloading all my problems on her, it was probably the only thing that got me through the day.

I took another gulp of coffee and turned the page in my text book. I thought maybe my persistent insomnia would help me stay up late finishing assignments, but I was still as tired and unfocused as ever. I slept sparingly now, and in the few hours a night I got some rest I tossed and turned with nightmares. My mom wanted to take me to a shrink, the idea of which I adamantly refused. I told her it was completely normal for half-bloods.

What was weird, though, was that some of them weren't premonitory dreams. They were just awful, frightening, but completely mortal nightmares.

_One new message: Wise Girl._

_Still hanging in there?_

I checked the clock—eleven fifty-three, which meant it was about nine o'clock in California. It had been a half-an-hour, and I hadn't even gotten through ten pages.

_Help me!_

My phone beeped. _Ring me up, Seaweed Brain._ I could almost see Annabeth rolling her eyes.

_I've done this before_

_I've given everything and more_

_Sometimes convinced I have the world to carry,_

_Every day is war_

It was one fifty-three when I finally shut down my computer and collapsed on my bed. _Please, _I thought_, please just let this be the one night where I sleep. _

Annabeth had practically fed me everything I needed to finish my paper. I had never been more thankful for her ability to be a bossy know-it-all. I rolled over, stretching my legs out. Every muscle in my body was screaming with fatigue, but I knew I'd probably barely close my eyes tonight.

The prospect of facing a tomorrow, _and tomorrow and tomorrow_, only made me more exhausted. Every day was like a small war, and I'd fall in bed at night only to know I'd have to wake up and fight the same losing battles the next day.

…_Creeps at this petty pace from day to day_… The days crawled by, each as insufferable as the last. But yet somehow, I'd blink, and a week had gone by. And then a month. The minutes were unbearable to live, but once they'd been lived they were unbearable to lose.

_And all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death_…death…death… The word echoed 'round in my head. I'd try not to think about it, and about the inevitability of the future, it was impossible. Trying to stop the thoughts from coming was like trying to stop water from flowing out between my bare hands. The more I tried to push it back, the more it trickled through my fingers, escaping into the crevices of my mind. Now _that _was something Shakespeare would have said, I thought with a small smile.

My phone lit up, and I received a last message from Annabeth. _'Night, Percy. Try and get some sleep._ The phone's blue glow illuminated the room. In an instant, though, it went out, leaving me in darkness.

_Out, out brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow_… I think I began to drift, but couldn't be quite sure. My thoughts felt vaguer, like I was sinking deeper and deeper into some kind of pool where everything was still and quiet. I could use the quiet. Did iambic pentameter usually have this effect on people?

…_A poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more_… Is that all I would get? My fifteen minutes of fame? I would save the world or damn it, and then be forgotten. Do what I was born to do, and be given nothing more. I couldn't escape my fate. I couldn't escape my destiny. But it was all so, so fleeting… Time was precious, and slipped by so fast…

_It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury_… I'd struggle, I'd have my struggle, but in the end, be just as brief and useless as a candle, or a shadow, or an actor on a stage. Maybe Shakespeare did know a thing or two… And I'd take one day at a time, and find a way of staying numb… And try not to look at what I'd lose… or think about what I'd become… Because, I thought, as I slowly slipped out of consciousness, it was all… so… brief..._Signifying nothing._

_And the rockets drop from dusk 'til dawn_

_I won't be shaken_

_And should they take me in the night,_

_Don't think my signal's fading_

_For you…_

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A/N: For those of you who haven't read Macbeth, sorry for all the references. I happen to love the play, and I think it's one of Shakespeare's best. We just finished reading it in my class. It didn't seem like Percy's thing, though, which is understandable if you're dyslexic.

Anyway, this chapter was kind of random. I don't really know. …Give me your thoughts.

Ps. Thanks to all who review- mucho appreciated.

Next chapter will be up soon!

--JR


	6. The Great Escape

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Chapter Six: The Great Escape, by Boys Like Girls

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_All of the wasted time_

_Hours that were left behind_

_Answers that we'll never find_

_They don't mean a thing… tonight_

"Mr. Jackson, _are you paying attention_?"

I glanced up to find my history teacher, Mr. LeClair, inches from my face, wearing a contemptuous expression.

"No, not really," I said, before I could stop myself. "Could you repeat the question?"

"I asked," he drawled acidicly, "in what year did Adams issue the Alien and Sedition Acts? Though perhaps if you deflated your self-righteous attitude, you would have heard the question."

I was hit by a familiar wave of frustration. My temper, which always seemed to be simmering dangerously close to the surface these days, began to rise. I could sense the anger brewing in my gut, and tried to focus myself to keep it under control.

"Um…" The Alien and Sedition Acts? I was stumped. Last I checked, aliens weren't even real. Besides me, Sarah Bateson, class brainiac, shot her hand into the air.

"1682?" I guessed weakly. It was getting harder and harder to try for my teachers. I knew Paul was disappointed with my performance academically, not to mention that I had butted heads with nearly every teacher, and he was doing everything he could not to get me thrown out of his school. It sucked, because he tried so hard, whereas I didn't really care.

"1682?" Mr. LeClair sneered. "If you're taking a stab in the dark, at least try for something in the correct century, Mr. Jackson."

I bit back a smart-ass comment. Next to me, Sarah's hand stretched higher.

"_Obviously_ Mr. Jackson has more important things on his mind than paying attention in school. Would you like to try again, or would that be too taxing?" He was goading me, and I knew it, but I refused to take the bait. Sarah's hand was now so high that it seemed in danger of being severed by the ceiling fan.

"1810?" I thought with frustration that it was assholes like Mr. LeClair I was saving the world for, and they'd never even know it.

"Honestly, sir, I have no idea. Why don't you try Sarah, though? She looks like she has a clue."

This generated a laugh from the class, which was instantly quelled by the look on Mr. LeClair's face.

"Put your hand down," Mr. LeClair snapped at Sarah. "And you, Mr. Jackson. I have had enough with your disrespect. Maybe if you could answer a single question correctly, I would have hope that there was some piece of your throw-away brain that could be salvaged, but even that seems too difficult for you. It is students like _you_ who undermine the good character of this school with their incompetence and flat-out lack of incentive. I don't know what sort of strings you've had to pull to remain a part of this student body, but if it were _my_ decision—" He jabbed a finger at his chest. "—you would have been expelled long since you've had the misfortune to trouble these halls."

I could take it no longer. The rage that had been building up inside of me the past couple of weeks finally boiled to the surface.

"Fine." I slammed my book down on the desk. "_Fine_. If you think I'm too stupid to be here, then maybe you're right."

I began angrily stuffing my books into my backpack.

"Maybe I've been 'undermining the good character of this school' _too_ long, suffering through _idiot_ teachers like _you_."

I swung the backpack onto my back. The rest of the class was watching in stunned silence. Mr. LeClair was spluttering from behind his desk.

"So, you know what? Since I'm too much of a _screw-up_ to handle your class, I'll just take myself out of it. I give up." I annunciated each syllable, spitting at the teacher. "_I_. _Quit_."

I strode up the aisle, furiously wrenching the door open.

"Screw you."

I slammed the door behind me, hearing the bang echo down the hallway. Blood was pounding through my head. I was going to be in so much trouble, but I just couldn't bring myself to care. Rage pumped through my veins like adrenaline, blocking out every other thought. I stalked down the hallway and right out of the school.

* * *

By the time I arrived home, my explosive fury had somewhat cooled, leaving me feeling more tired than ever. More than anything, I was done. I couldn't handle going through the motions for another pointless day, and pretending everything was alright and that I was just a normal teenager. I choked out a bitter laugh at that. Normal teenager? I was just about the furthest thing from a normal teenager.

I collapsed at the kitchen table, resting my head on its wooden surface. The house was empty and quiet. The sun glinted off an object and I looked up. It was Paul's keys, the ones to his Prius convertible. And then, the stupidest, most reckless, as Annabeth would put it 'Seaweed-brained' idea popped into my head. The rational side of my brain put up a feeble argument against it, but I was so tired and so done with dealing that it quickly lost.

I got up and grabbed Paul's keys off their hook. In my room, I stuffed some clothes and necessities into a bag and put my cell phone in my pocket. I threw the bag over my shoulder.

Grabbing a sheet of paper, I hastily scribbled a note to my mom. It was a bad excuse for a reason, and I was a bad excuse for a son. Guilt gnawed at my stomach, but even that wasn't enough to stop me. I dashed into the garage and rammed the keys into the ignition of the Prius, turning them. My heart was pounding.

This was so impulsive, so rash. Gods, I didn't even have a driver's license. It wasn't going to solve anything, I knew. But I needed a break. I really, _really_ needed a break.

I backed the car out of the garage and pressed my foot to the gas. Time to forget half-bloods, forget the gods, and forget the freakin' prophecy. For now, I was free.

_Throw it away, forget yesterday,_

_We'll make the great escape_

_We won't hear a word they say,_

_They don't know us anyway_

_Watch it burn_

_Let it die_

'_Cause we are finally free… tonight._

_

* * *

_

A/N: Another chapter up! Sorry it took so long, I've been super busy recently. Anyway, please review! I might start doing some chapters from other people's POVs. Thoughts?

--JR


	7. Take It Easy

****

Chapter Seven: Take it Easy by The Eagles

* * *

_We may lose, and we may win_

_But we will never be here again_

_So open I'm, I'm climbin' in_

_And take it easy.  
_

The wind whips through his hair. He's been driving for a day and a half, now, and the road is so flat that it seems to stretch on straight into the horizon, with not another soul in sight. It feels like freedom.

The sun is warm that afternoon. He supposes he's in the midwest by now, with nothing but green and brown to see for endless miles. The radio is jamming, and the music makes him smile and his green eyes shine.

His phone vibrates in his pocket (probably his mother…agan.), but he ignores it. He's escaping. He's escaping, and not looking back, because he needs a break. And he feels good now, with the top down and the warm wind and the music. He feels intoxicated.

He revs his foot on the ignition. The spedometer pushes 95 mph, and the engine rumbles beneath him. The car is flying, eating up miles of road, leaving a whirl of dust in its wake. The speed in exhilirating; he could get high off the thrill of danger pulsating through his veins.

With one hand he cranks up the music, and sings along to the old Eagles hit.

"_Well I'm running down the road trying to loosen my load_

_Got a world of trouble on my mind_

_Lokkin' for a lover who won't blow my cover,_

_She's so hard to find."_

_  
_He thinks with a grin that he might very well go stand on a corner in Winslow, Arizona. Why not? He can drive anywhere he wants. He doesn't know where he's going, but he's heading for the west coast. California, his mind says instantaneously. He doesn't know why, but he decides to go with it.

After all, he's living off impulses now.

He can't wait to see the Pacific, glittering and cerulean. The feeling of recklessness, of rashness, is all he needs right now. He lets out a whoop of freedom, unheard by anyone, as the car speeds on through the infinate miles.

_"Take it easy, take it easy_

_Don't let the sound of your own wheels_

_Make you crazy_

_Lighten up while you still can_

_Don't even try to understand_

_Just find a place to make your stand_

_And take it easy."_

* * *

A/N: REVIEW!!!!!

--JR


	8. The First Single

**"The First Single" by The Format**

* * *

_You know me,  
Or you think you do you, you just don't seem to see  
I've been waiting all this time to be  
Something I can't define, _

Annabeth slouched even lower in her seat. It was the last period of the day, Biology, and Annabeth had forgotten her homework. The teacher, Mrs. Nixon, was going over the assignment by asking kids to read their answers in order of seat. Conveniently, Annabeth sat in the back, and she was hoping that the bell would ring before she could reveal that she had neglected to complete the questions.

As one boy, Tony Peters, read a long paragraph on mitochondria, Annabeth snuck a peak at her cell phone under the desk.

Her last text message from Percy was had been rather cryptic. He wrote: _I've got to go, but I'll be seeing you sooner than you think._ Annabeth had asked him what in the name of Zeus that meant, but he hadn't responded.

That had been over an hour ago. She flipped open her phone, but Percy still hadn't texted back. It was just like him to do this, she thought, seething. He knew she'd mull over it until her brain was inside out if she wasn't given a direct response. Yes, Percy Jackson knew exactly how to push her buttons.

She glanced up at the clock. Two minutes until the bell. Two minutes until she could call Percy up and pester him for answers.

"Annabeth." Mrs. Nixon's voice startled her out of her reverie. "You're next. Can you tell us about the function of cytoplasm?"

Crap.

"Um…" Annabeth opened and closed her mouth several times, like a goldfish trapped out of water. _Oh, Hades._

In a moment of saving grace, the bell sounded. Annabeth hastily packed up her books and hustled out of the room, whipping out her cell phone while she was at it. The call went straight to voicemail.

Of _course_ his phone's off, she thought with a scowl. Now there was nothing to do but go home with several hours of biology, geometry, and literature homework to look forward to.

One of her friends fell into pace with Annabeth as she walked out of the building. Casey was blathering on about a teacher who told her off for texting in class and the detention she would have to serve.

"Of course, it's the second time he's caught me," she prattled as the pushed open the double doors at the front of the building. The bright sun momentarily blinded Annabeth, and she shielded her eyes as they walked down the steps. "He's going to take away my phone if I do it again so—"

_Beep! Beep!_

Annabeth looked up at the sound of a car horn. Pulling up to the steps was a Prius convertible and Annabeth's jaw dropped when she saw who the driver was.

It was none other than Percy Jackson.

"Percy!?" Annabeth ran down the steps to the car, Casey in tow. Percy was sitting behind the wheel looking disheveled, his black hair tousled and messy, a grin lighting up his face. His sea-green eyes, as brilliant as ever, met hers.

"Hey, Wise Girl."

"What are you doing here?" she asked, thunderstruck. Behind her, Casey was gaping, dumbfounded, at the good looking stranger in the convertible.

Percy shrugged.

"I told you I'd be seeing you soon," he said, smirking at her. "Hop in!"

"Wha—you—I—Do you even have your license?" Annabeth blushed furiously at the garbled sentence.

"Nope," he said happily.

She tried to stammer out a bumbled excuse before giving up and clambering into the passenger seat. Everywhere, people were watching as good-girl Annabeth Chase got into a car with a rogue stranger. Percy slammed the pedal and screeched out of the parking lot.

"What are you doing here?" Annabeth repeated, buckling up quickly.

"They're called vacations, Wise Girl."

"You drove across the country for a _vacation_? Don't you have _school_? Do your _parents_ know you're here? Isn't this _illegal_? How long have you been driving for?"

"Yes, yes, no, probably, and a really, really long time."

It took her a moment to process his responses.

"_Percy_!" she staggered, "You can't just up and leave without telling anyone!"

"I'm going to call them," he said, turning off the interstate. "…eventually. How do I get to your house"

"Take a left," she said dully. "You drove from New York to California? _Why_?"

"To see you," he replied, a little put out. "And I have to say, your less-than-warm welcome is a bit disheartening after driving hundreds of miles."

"It's not that I don't want to see you! But people just don't… _do_ this kind of thing!"

She examined him. Up close, there were very subtle differences from how she remembered him—he was thinner and his face, upon close inspection, was gaunt. There were bags under his eyes.

"You are _such_ a Seaweed Brain," she muttered finally, rolling her eyes. He grinned.

"I thought you'd say that."

Despite her indignation, she smiled too. It was hard to hide how glad she was to see him.

"Come on, you know you're glad I'm here," he said, nudging her playfully with his elbow.

"Never will you hear me utter that, Seaweed Brain," she said, crossing her arms and sticking her head into the air, trying hard not to giggle. "Not even under pain of death."

"What about pain of…" she saw a dangerous idea spark in his eyes. "…_tickling_!"

"—Percy!—" she choked out in between gasps of laughter, "—put your hands—on the wheel—you idiot—I swear I'm going to _kill_ you—"

"Admit it!" he said, swerving to avoid a car and tickling her harder. "Admit you're glad to see me!"

"—Fine!—I confess!—"

"I knew it!" he said triumphantly, putting both hands back on the wheel and grinning evilly at her.

"If you ever speak of this again, I will hunt you down and put your eyeballs up for show," she said, smiling broadly.

The car sped across the terrain as argued back and forth, shouts of laughter filling the empty road.

_So let's  
Cause a scene  
Clap our hands and stomp our feet or something,  
Yeah something,  
I've just got to get myself over me._

* * *

A/N: Sorry I havn't updated in forever, I've been really busy. Fortunately, I already have the next few chapters written, so I'll be able to update periodically. Happy 4th of July!

--JR


	9. Holiday From Real

**Chapter Nine: Holiday From Real, by Jack's Mannequin**

_She thinks I'm much too thin,  
She asks me if I'm sick  
What's a girl to do  
With friends like this?_

"Percy! Slow _down_!"

Paul's Prius wheeled down the dirt road, stirring up a haze of brown dust. I slammed on the breaks and the car jerked to a screeching halt.

"Slow enough for you?" I asked. Next to me, Annabeth had her hand over her chest and was taking long, deep breaths. Her wind-tossed blonde hair set my stomach into a series of backflips.

"You are going to send me to an early grave, Seaweed Brain," she gasped.

"All in a day's work," I replied with a grin. I pulled the car off to a small look-out on the side of the road. "Look—you can see the ocean from here."

The vast Pacific glittered in the sunlight. Seeing it always filled me with a sense of calm. I looked at Annabeth, only to find she was studying me again. She'd been doing that since I'd arrived yesterday, whenever she thought I wasn't watching.

"Have you been feeling okay, Perce?" she asked, frowning. "I mean, I know you've been really stressed lately, but you're way too thin."

"I'm _fine_," I said.

"Spontaneously driving across the country is not what I'd call 'fine.'"

"Annabeth, I came here because I needed a break." I unbuckled my seatbelt and hopped out of the car. "I mean, I really, _really_ needed a break."

I swung around to her side, pulling her out of the car.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her orange skirt fluttering in the sea-breeze.

"We," I said, leading her to the edge of the bluff, "Are going on an adventure."

Annabeth giggled, pulling away from me.

"An 'adventure'?" she mocked. "That's not an answer, you dunderhead."

I snaked through the tall sand grass and down the bluff. Beneath was a small, rocky beach nestled between the stony coastline. Huge breakers crashed onto the gravelly sand. The spray reached me in a shower of mist.

"Wait up!" Annabeth called. She shimmied down the slope, but tripped on a loose stone.

"_Oof_!"

She landed breathless against me, her hands square on my chest. My arms subconsciously fastened around her, catching her. Our faces were inches apart. Close enough to see my reflection in her irises. Close enough to count every eyelash. Close enough to kiss.

My heart began hammering. My stomach, which had been doing backflips a minute ago, now felt like it was filled with live jellyfish.

"Uh…" I stammered. My mouth seemed to have stopped working properly.

"Sorry," she said, blushing. She pushed past me, onto the beach.

Real smooth, I told myself. I watched the wind whip her hair around her face. I felt like such an idiot.

"Come on," I said, running up to her and grabbing her hand. "Let's go swimming!"

"In _that_ water?" she said dubiously. All of the flush hadn't yet faded from her cheeks. "Why not just drown me now?"

"Ah, but you're forgetting who you're with!" We kicked off our shoes and I led her to the water, until the foam was pooling around our feet bare feet. "Son of the Sea God here. Capable of calming the seas with his bare hands."

"Better not let my parents hear you saying that—they're Catholic," Annabeth giggled.

"Well have you ever seen Jesus do—this?"

I ran forward, pulling her with me. Annabeth shrieked as the cold water splashed on her legs, soaking through her skirt. A huge swell manifested in front of us, it's foamy crest above our heads, ready to break. Annabeth gasped, latching onto my arm. Just as the wave crashed over us, I held us in a sphere of air. Water spattered across the barrier but it held, impenetrable.

"Pretty good, eh?" I said, cocking one eyebrow.

"You're one up on the Lord," Annabeth said, as another wave broke around the sphere. "Not bad for a Seaweed Brain."

_Oh, California in the Summer  
Ah, and my hair is growing long  
Fuck yeah, we can live like this  
_

I decided that I'd have to call my parents, sooner or later. There was no point in putting it off any longer; I doubted they could get any more furious than they probably already were.

"_Percy!?_ Where the _hell_ are you?"

"Oh, um… around," I lied pathetically.

"Around? _AROUND?!_ You've been gone for over a week leaving nothing but a note and the best you can give is _around_?!" I had never heard Paul, who was usually levelheaded and calm, so irate. The effect was almost frightening.

"Well, I'm sort of in Santa Monica," I said weakly.

"Please tell me you mean Santa Monica's Pizza Parlor in Brooklyn," Paul said dangerously.

"Actually…" I cringed. "Santa Monica, California."

I pulled the phone away from my ear as Paul began a second tirade. From what I could tell, it contained a lot of you-have-no-idea-what-we-went-through's and absolutely-no-excuse's.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," I offered. I was—I felt awful about what I'd done, but it hadn't been enough to stop me from doing it.

"Percy, you _stole_ my car and drove across the _country_. So your apology really isn't worth a hell of a lot. Believe me, once you get your sorry ass back here you are in for the punishment of a life-time, mister."

"Um… Paul?" I winced. "I'm sort of not coming back just yet."

I heard Paul spluttering on the other end. By now, his anger seemed beyond words.

"Unbelievable. Fucking _unbelievable_. I'm putting your mother on the phone."

By the time my mom had chewed me out, I was feeling awful. I could handle the incensed ranting from Paul, but hearing the shame in my mom's voice was a million times worse. I would rather that she shouted. Anything was better than her quiet, bitter disappointment.

I jumped as Annabeth's voice came out of nowhere.

"You know, you kind of had that coming."

"Yeah." I grimaced. "I know."

"Are you going to go back?"

"Do I have to?"

Annabeth looked like she was in the throes of a fierce internal struggle.

"I guess…" she began hesitantly, "I guess it wouldn't do any more damage if you stayed for a couple more days."

A smile broke out on my face.

"Well, then," I said, waggling my eyebrows, "Why don't we make the most of them?"

"Percy…" she started, her lips turning down, her responsible side finally getting the better of her.

"What?" I asked, rolling my eyes. "You just got off on spring break and I'm in California. We're two young, attractive people; so why not have a little fun?"

"Well," she said, quirking an eyebrow. "_One_ of us is attractive."

I knew I had won her over.

_  
But if you left it up to me  
Everyday would be  
A holiday_

_From real._

We were sitting on the boardwalk together, watching the sun set.

California was fantastic. I never wanted to leave, and never wanted these moments to end. We'd wasted days running around the sunlit city, acting irresponsible and getting into all sorts of mischief. It was perfect, the perfect escape.

"I wish it were always like this," I voiced aloud. "With nothing at all to worry about."

"Your little vacation from reality can't last forever, Percy," Annabeth said.

"You're such a downer," I countered with a grin.

"And you," Annabeth said pointedly, "Are delusional."

"If it were up to me, life would be one giant vacation," I said, stretching my arms out behind my head.

"If it were up to you, I'd hate to think of the state the world would be left in," Annabeth replied.

"Percytopia would be a great civilization!" I pouted.

"That Annabethopolis would quickly conquer."

"Is that an insult?" I asked flippantly.

Annabeth smiled but said nothing. She fixed me with a smugly knowing stare.

"Don't give me that!" I protested.

"What?" She feigned innocence. I rolled my eyes.

"That!" I sputtered. "That 'you-are-an-ignorant-creature-who-lives-in-an-absured-fantasy-world-but-I'll-keep-my-silence-because-I-see-with-my-wisdom-what-is-best look!"

She looked as though she was going to argue against it for a moment, but then submitted wearily.

"You _are_ an ignorant creature, Percy Jackson."

"Ah, well," I said, relaxing. The sun sunk beneath the waves, shrouding the sky in a warm, dusk glow. "That's the price we pay for paradise."

_  
We'd waste our weeks  
Beneath the sun,  
We'd fry our brains  
And say it's so much fun out here  
But when it's all over  
I'll come back for another year._

* * *

A/N: Another chapter done! I love writing Percy/Annabeth banter. It's so fun. Those two are adorable. And Jack's Mannequin is _amazing_. Seriously awesome band.

Review!

--jr

* * *


	10. Where Soul Meets Body

****

Chapter 10: Where Soul Meets Body, by Death Cab for Cutie

* * *

_I want to live where soul meets body  
And let the sun wrap its arms around me  
And bathe my skin in water cool and cleansing  
And feel, feel what its like to be new__  
_

I sat tracing circles in the sand with my fingers, the ocean water lapping at my feet. It was early—so early that the Santa Monica coastline was quiet. I was alone, except for occasional joggers on the boardwalk and early-risers sipping coffee with their newspapers.

The sun breathed it's warmth onto my back, barely peaked above the horizon. I rested my head on my knees. The moment felt surreal—too peaceful. I'd never felt so out of place by the ocean; it was usually my element. But even the steady beating of the waves at my feet somehow felt wrong.

I didn't fit in this place, with all these happy people and their normal lives, and the sun shining and the ocean calm, not with all of the dark and turbulence inside my head.

It felt like I was sweating out an endless fever. I wanted to dive into the cool water and scrub my skin, and keep scrubbing until every speck of dirt and baggage and memory was washed away.

But I couldn't, and I felt so damn dirty that it hurt. Cursed. Marked, like I had some sort of disease. I would contaminate all of the good, happy people with my misery just by being around them. And this, I supposed, was what it felt like to be truly alone—to be surrounded with people, but trapped behind an invisible barrier that separated you from them.

_  
Cause in my head there's a greyhound station  
Where I send my thoughts to far off destinations  
So they may have a chance of finding a place  
Where they're far more suited than here  
_

I felt someone sit besides me, but didn't look up.

"It's kind of early, you know," Annabeth said.

"Well, I couldn't sleep, but hey—what else is new?" I tried to keep the bitterness from my voice.

"Being dark and twisty again?" she asked. A wry smile crept onto my face.

"That's me—dark and twisty."

"You should start wearing black eyeliner and chains, and carrying around signs that say 'screw the world'," she said, resting her head on her knees as well.

"Yeah, well Thalia wouldn't want me stealing her look," I countered, grinning. "We should put my biography on . It'd get, like, a million hits."

"Percy Jackson Mc-Emo," she said with a giggle. We looked at each other. The sunrise reflected in her eyes, making their storm-grey irises gleam translucently.

_  
I cannot guess what we'll discover  
We turn the dirt with our palms cupped like shovels  
But I know our filthy hands can wash one another's  
And not one speck will remain  
_

"You can't stay out here forever, you know," she said quietly. I stayed stubbornly silent. "Running away from your problems isn't the same as solving them."

"I'll be sure to store that one away somewhere, in my mental book of proverbs and sayings."

"Percy, I'm serious," she said. "You're going to have to go back eventually and own up to it."

"I consulted the oracle, you know," I said abruptly. I didn't know why I was telling her this. "Want to know what it told me?"

She didn't say anything.

"It said that I was going to sacrifice my life to save another. So even if we win, I'm still going to die." I stared straight out ahead, unable to look at her. The ocean glittered as the rising sun cast it's glow upon it. It felt like something from a dream—beautiful but surreal.

"Isn't that such crap? Isn't that the stupidest piece of _crap_ you've ever heard?" My voice broke. I looked down.

I'd never felt more trapped in my own head, my own body. I'd never wished more intensely that I could be somebody else…anybody else. It seemed so childish to think 'why me?', but I couldn't help it. It wasn't fair—it just wasn't! I felt like such a selfish brat for thinking it, but I was scared. I was scared, and I couldn't hide it from myself, even if I was going to do my damnedest to hide it from everyone else.

My eyes were stinging but I refused to wipe them on my sleeve. Annabeth still hadn't said anything. She rested her head on my shoulder and cupped her hand into mine, tracing pictures on the sand. The warmth of the sunrise felt so far away.

My eyes burned, but I gazed out past the shining water, unable to find the blurred line where sky met sea. Everything was illuminated. Our silhouettes traced shadows, like two dark angels, out of place in paradise.

_I do believe it's true  
That there are roads left in both of our shoes  
But if the silence takes you  
Then I hope it takes me too  
So brown eyes I hold you near  
Cause you're the only song I want to hear  
A melody softly soaring through my atmosphere._

_

* * *

_

A/N: Another angsty chapter! Sorry, I can't help it. More to come, guys, so review please!!!!

--JR


	11. At Full Speed

**Chapter Eleven: "At Full Speed" by Jack's Mannequin**

_And there's no guarantee_

_That leaving town's gonna set us both free_

_But staying here, it's just not what we need,_

_No, staying here, it's just not what we need._

He says goodbye to her in the car. They are parked in front of her house, in one of those suburban developments with "slow for children" signs and welcome mats, where every house looks exactly the same. The sky is overcast, and the only sound is the methodic whizzing of sprinklers watering meticulously manicured lawns.

"Take care, Seaweed Brain," she tells him. "Don't do anything stupid."

He assures her he'll do his very best to get into all sorts of trouble.

She climbs out of the convertible and swings over to his side, resting her elbows on the window ledge. Her face his so close that he can count her freckles. She surveys him piercingly, the kind of look that makes his stomach do back flips.

"Just…" she begins.

"I'll be fine," he says reassuringly.

She bites her lip. She looks like she has something she wants to say, but settles for "I'll see you at camp, Percy."

And then she does something that ctakes him completely by surprise. She leans forward and kisses him on the cheek.

_Say something. Tell her you'll miss her. Say you had a good time with her. Tell her—_

"'Bye."

She turns and walks towards the house, long blonde hair cascading down her back. He touches the spot where she kissed him—he can still feel her lips, so soft, lingering on his skin. He watches her until the door swings shut and she's hidden from his view, and then steps on the gas and pulls out of the development.

_Because, America shines, yes it does_

_In between the white lines where I found love_

_All alone on a road going nowhere_

_Going nowhere_

_Going nowhere_

_At full speed_

He says goodbye to California on the highway. He whizzes past the _Welcome_ _to… Nevada_ sign, but nature's done nothing to signal the boundary. Nevada looks the same as California and Arizona and Utah. Flat, arid scrub land, with towering formations of dusty orange rock rising out of the dirt.

The road's white lines taper off into the distance somewhere, a single point on the horizon. He can't help but dread his homecoming. Every mile he drives feels like it's taking him closer and closer to the prophecy. The notion is stupid—you can't outrun the future, and he knows it.

But for the briefest time he could be… normal.

_I have traveled far_

_And I've seen things that I'd rather not say_

_When you're traveling it's better that way_

_The darker the secret, the harder you'll keep it_

He says goodbye to freedom when he hits traffic entering North Carolina. He's back on the eastern seaboard. Even though he left California only a few days ago, it feels like weeks. He's like a nomad.

He's restless, and the thought of staying put in one place is unnerving. It's easier to be on the road, never having to tie himself to anything or anyone, or explain himself.

Someone swerves in front of him, cutting him off. He slams on the brakes and beeps the horn furiously. He hates traffic. All he wants to do is crash is foot into the pedal and speed through the rest of the cars at a million miles an hour.

He likes driving like that. So fast, that he could crash and die at any second, except he _won't_—because he's controlling the car.

He doesn't want to die.

And all of the dark, dirty little secrets he keeps are strewn somewhere across America.

_But it's no victory_

_Always running away like I do_

_Always know that I'll come back to you_

_Always know that I'll come back to you_

He says hello to New York City at 1:42 am. The city's main streets are still busy; late night-goers are walking up and own with clacking heels and loud voices.

It's quieter near his apartment. A street light illuminates the familiar block. He parks the car and walks to their floor, turning the key quietly. He feels like an intruder in his own home.

And for all his running, all that's left is a sick, twisted knot in the pit of his stomach. He drops his bag to the floor and sits on the couch. The rationalizations in his head are ineffective now, and only make him feel more ashamed. Suddenly a light flips on at the top of the stairs.

It's his mother, wrapped in a dressing gown, a look of wide-eyed astonishment on her face.

"Percy…" she exhales softly. In an instant she is at his side with her arms around him. She smells warm and familiar, and he only feels worse.

He can't understand why she's not angry. He's undeserving of this welcome. He's a coward after all.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles brokenly into her shoulder. She only pulls him tighter, kissing his forehead and running her hands through his hair, like she can't believe he's really there.

She pulls away and studies him. She's his mom, and not one blink evades her. She can read him like an open book, but he's glad, because he wouldn't know how to explain himself anyway.

"Oh, Percy," she sighs, snaking her arm around him so he can rest his head on her shoulder. They sit in silence for a minute, and then she speaks again.

"You're grounded until you turn forty."

This gets a small laugh out of him. And home feels a little more like home again.

_Because, America shines, yes it does_

_In between the white lines where I found love_

_All alone on a road going nowhere_

_Going nowhere_

_Going nowhere_

_At full speed._

* * *

A/N: Another Percy angst chapter. I can't help myself. It's like an addiction. I should check my self into PAA: Percy Angst Anonymous. Anyway, sorry about the huge hold-up on this chapter. I've been in Maine with the fam so I couldn't update. One week without computer access- the horrors! I've already the written the next chapter, one that I rather enjoy. It's from Thalia's POV about Percabeth and Thuke, complete with some nice flashbacks. But still kind of angsty. Oh yes, and we will finally return to Camp Half-Blood! Yay!

Reviews are like small bundles of love in HTML format.

--JR


	12. We Are Nowhere, And It's Here

**Chapter Twelve: We Are Nowhere, And It's Here, by Bright Eyes**

_Why are you scared to dream of God_

_When it's salvation that you want?_

_You see stars that clear_

_Have been dead for years_

_But the idea just lives on_

I remember when we were young. When it was just Annabeth, Luke, and I, before we had even reached Camp Half-Blood. Annabeth had just found out about gods and demigods. She was surprisingly perceptive for a girl so young. So bright, but wary at the same time.

She started seeing 'signs of the gods' everywhere, like religious fanatics see Jesus Christ in toaster strudel and stuff.

"Thalia—look!" She had grabbed my hand one day. "Look! A yellow bird. It's right there in front of us and it's not flying away! It's an omen!"

I rolled my eyes.

"It's not an omen, Annabeth. It's just a bird."

"Thal, come on," Luke said in a disbelieving voice. "Aren't you tuned in to Greek mythology at all?" He winked at me. I returned the gesture with a glare that clearly read 'don't encourage it.' Luke ignored my look and continued.

"Seeing a yellow bird is a sign from Aphrodite, 'Beth. It means that you'll find love in spite of obstacles."

Annabeth looked thrilled.

"Which one of us is it for, Luke?"

"Maybe you," he said. "Maybe all of us."

His amber eyes locked with mine. My mouth felt dry and my hands clammy. _Snap out of it!_ I told myself sternly.

"Do you believe in true love, Thalia?" Annabeth chirped. "Like the stuff from Disney movies?"

"Sure, kiddo," I replied, breaking my gaze with Luke. "I guess it exists."

I glanced back at Luke through the corner of my eyes. The sun was illuminating his face, bathing it in golden light. A slight wind tousled his hair. He was watching Annabeth, a fond smile on his face.

"I think I'll find my true love someday," Annabeth declared. "How 'bout you, Luke?"

"She's out there," he said. "Maybe closer than I think."

The yellow bird hopped off the bench and flew above our heads.

_In our wheels that roll around_

_As we move over the ground_

_And our day is seen as in between_

_A past and future town_

When I returned to Camp Half-Blood with the Hunters that summer, so much had changed. Everyone seemed far older than they should have been, even the young kids. I hadn't been gone for very long, but upon returning to a place so alien it felt like a lifetime.

When I saw Percy and Annabeth again they seemed more different than I had remembered. It felt like they were growing up so fast, whereas I wasn't growing at all. I was stuck—always stuck between thinking of the past and dreading the future.

But the small glances between them when one thought the other wasn't looking, the passing just close enough to touch—it was so apparent. To everyone else, frustratingly. They were perfect for each other, but neither was willing to recognize it. It reminded me of those short parts of the night when I dreamed and would always see amber eyes.

It looked like Annabeth had found her yellow bird.

_We are nowhere and it's now_

_(We are nowhere, and it's now)_

_In a ten-minute dream in the passenger seat_

_While the world was flying by_

_I haven't been gone very long_

_But it feels like a lifetime_

"Are you scared?" The question was out of my mouth before I could find the tact to stop it. Percy didn't look offended, though. Instead he regarded me thoughtfully.

"Not of dying, really." He paused, fumbling with the words. "I mean, I'm afraid of… the concept, but not of the moment. Does that make sense?" He let out a small laugh.

"I guess I'm more scared of…" his voice got quiet and pensive, and I could read the sadness on his face, as much as he tried to hide it. "… of time. And not having enough of it. You know? Well I guess you don't," he said ruefully, "_You've_ got all the time in the world."

It's true, I thought. I've got too much time and he doesn't have enough. It made me so restless, because I wasn't born this way—I was born with an expiration date, like everyone else. Not for the first time, it felt like I had made the wrong choice becoming a Hunter.

And it wasn't fair, because I had my chance and I ran away. The regret—the godsdamned regret—was what I had in its place. I hated the way it made me feel—like a coward. I was a Hunter. I was the daughter of Zeus, for god's sake.

Percy put on a brave smile, one I saw through. He carried on, joking and telling me funny school stories, asking me how I've been and what I've been up to. It was a small comfort to us both, pretending everything wasn't so screwed up and wrong.

But he was so…young. He was Percy. Happy, thoughtless, headstrong Percy. He shouldn't look so tired and cynical.

"What about Annabeth?" I asked.

"What about her?" he replied squarely, but he shifted slightly. His eyes darted over to where she was showing new campers the proper way to load an arrow.

I raised my eyebrows but say nothing. A slight flush crept into his cheeks.

A bird darted down from a nearby tree and began burrowing near by in the tall grass. It was yellow.

"Look," I said absently, pointing. "A yellow bird. You'll find love."

"Um, okay…" He looked at me like I'd suddenly lost my mind. I smiled at his bewildered expression, which only made him look more taken aback. "Thanks, Snow White…"

_I've got no plans and too much time_

_I feel too restless to unwind_

_I'm always lost in thought as I walk the block_

_To my favorite neon sign_

Talking to Annabeth again was hard. We both were dancing around the subject of Luke. The avoided issue stuck out like a Cyclops at a kid's party.

"What about Percy?" I asked finally.

"What about him?" she replied evenly, but began blinking furiously.

"You know but I mean," I said.

She refused to meet my gaze, instead grabbing a flat rock and skipping it across the river.

"If you like him…" I began.

"He's going to die, Thalia," Annabeth told me curtly. "And it's going to hurt enough as it is. I'm not going to make it harder to lose him. I've had it with this stupid false-hope."

She paused, biting her lip, and then muttered under her breath, "I already made that mistake once."

I looked at her. This wasn't the Annabeth I knew, who would fight to the end. This sounded like… me.

"Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened," I quoted.

"When did you get all philosophical?" she countered with a smirk that looked more like a grimace. I laughed bitterly.

"Guess I'm just figuring out now that I'm a romantic," I said contritely. "But it's too late for me, kiddo."

The endless cycle of would've-could've-should've played like a skipping disc in my head.

"Ah, well. Love's an excuse to get hurt," she replied, skipping another stone across the river.

I looked at her in disbelief.

"How could you forget your yellow bird?" I asked her softly.

She smiled sadly.

"You did," she pointed out.

_Did you forget that yellow bird?_

_How could you forget your yellow bird?_

I remembered when Annabeth was only eight, and it was still the three of us together. She'd found a small silver plastic wreath on the side of the road. Her eyes lit up at the sight.

"It's a gift," she'd said. "From the gods. Like magic, you know?"

I'd smiled, letting her believe it.

"For you," she'd said, pinning it on me. "It will bring you love."

I looked back at her now. I had never wanted her to be this way, to be jaded, like me. But somehow she already was.

"Don't be scared to get too close," I told her. "Love is for pansies… but it'd be worth it. Trust me."

I pulled the silver wreath from my pocket. The cheap plastic was chipped and the silver varnish had faded from fingers being rubbed over it too many times.

"Here," I said, handing it to her. "It's magic, remember? It will bring you love."

She took it from me, running her fingers over the well-worn polish like I used to do hundreds of times.

"You never believed that was true."

"But I kept it for good luck," I replied, closing her hand around it.

_And she took a small silver wreath and pinned it onto me_

_She said this one will bring you love_

_And I don't know if it's true but I keep it for good luck._

* * *

A/N: My chaper from Thalia's POV! I'm so proud of myself for updating so quickly. Review, loves!

--JR


	13. Crooked Teeth

**Chapter Thirteen: Crooked Teeth, by Death Cab for Cutie**

_It was one hundred degrees  
As we sat beneath a willow tree  
Whose tears didn't care  
They just hung in the air  
And refused to fall, to fall_

Percy leaned back, shifting slightly against the trunk of the old willow tree and closed his eyes. The afternoon sun beat down on the surrounding landscape with such ferocity that plants wilted in the parched heat. Even shaded by the willow's canopy, it was still stifling.

He peeked open one eye to glance next to him. Annabeth was bent over her stack of notes and plans, her brow furrowed in concentration. The sleeves of her blouse were rolled up past the elbows and her hair, frizzing in the heat, was attempting to be contained in a messy bun. She was frowning slightly, biting on the end of her pen, while fanning herself with loose documents.

Annabeth's head snapped up.

"_Well_?"

"Well what?" he asked, opening both eyes.

Annabeth let out a long, frustrated noise.

"I _asked_ you what you thought of moving all the young campers by _water_ to that undercover location in the city, but if you were paying attention—"

"Annabeth, come _on_." Percy swatted at a fly hovering near his head. "It's too hot to function."

"Percy, that is not an excuse," she snapped, scribbling furiously on another long and complex paper. "Chiron wants us to come up with an evacuation plan in case the camp is ambushed and he wants it done by _tomorrow_—" She viciously crossed out a note. "—and it's something that we have to take _seriously_."

She threw down her pen and began studying a map.

"A little help would be nice, 'partner,'" she said without looking up.

"Well," Percy began, wondering where she found the energy amidst the languid heat to be so vigorous, "Um… yeah, I guess we could move them by water, but we'd need to have boats…"

"Obviously," she said. "But Chiron wouldn't be too opposed to getting a few power boats…" She was now muttering more to herself than to him. "It'd be smart, to escape out the back, because an attack would most likely come from the land or the sky… and it's also the most direct route into the city…"

Percy stretched out his legs lazily. The willow's curtain of green shrouded them like a tent.

"…Of course, we'd need a back-up plan in case an attack came from the water…" Annabeth was desperately attempting to tuck loose strands of hair back into confinement, a task that was as doomed as trying to find the nonexistent breeze. She fanned herself feverishly with a notebook.

"We'd also need a better method of communication—cell phones obviously won't work—it's _too_ _frickin' HOT_!" she burst out, throwing her pen and notebook in vexation.

"Calm down," said Percy in alarm. He'd never seen her face so red. "Look—why don't we go swimming or something. We can finish this later."

"No," she said, running her hand through her hair distractedly. "No, we've got to finish it _now_. All we need to figure out are a few loose ends, and then draw out the map for Chiron."

Percy leaned back on the willow and exhaled drowsily. Annabeth threw down her map and did the same.

"Hopeless," she said mournfully. "We're all going to die because it's so god-awfully hot."

She turned to look at him. Her blonde hair was wisped across her face, and her blouse unbuttoned dangerously low. She wiped a bead of perspiration from her forehead.

Percy suddenly felt the urge to kiss her, stronger than he'd ever felt it before. He didn't know what it was—maybe the heat, which was making his head buzz pleasantly and his judgment cloudy—but he leaned in closer. Annabeth's lips, red as cherries, were parted slightly in a little "o" of surprise.

_Go on_, the part of his brain made foggy by the heat said. _Kiss her. You know you want to—you always want to_. The logical part of his brain began to protest vehemently. _You've liked her for ages. Maybe even more than like._ That was true—he had like her for ages. Honestly, since the day he'd met her. And the feelings had only increased the longer he knew her.

His lips barely brushed against hers when she leapt to her feet.

"Yeah, I guess we should finish it later," she muttered, grabbing her notes. Without looking back at him she slipped out past the willow's veil.

Groaning, Percy collapsed flat on his back. I don't _get_ girls, he thought, looking up at the light filtering down through the willow's leaves.

_'Cause at night the sun in retreat  
Made the skyline look  
Like crooked teeth  
In the mouth of a man  
Who was devouring, us both_

He had mapped out in his head his plan for a humble apology. If they both just forgot it ever happened, then everything could be made right between them. At least, back to normal, he reasoned.

After dinner, he ran up to her across the lawn.

"Annabeth, hey," he panted. The setting sun painted long, pointed shadows of trees across the pavilion, the sky still a hazy red-gold. "About this afternoon—"

She turned. "Yes?" She didn't look mad. On the contrary, she looked almost… hopeful. He shook his head. He must be imagining it.

"Listen," he continued. "I just wanted to…fix it."

She raised her eyebrows. "How so?"

"We'll just…move past it. Forget about it."

"Forget about it?" she said angrily.

"Let's just pretend it never happened," he pleaded. "I take it back."

"You can't just take it back," she said scathingly. "It's a kiss—not a library book."

"It was barely even a kiss!" he protested. "It was more like…an accidental lip-touch. It was just the heat!"

For a second he thought he saw a look of hurt flash in her eyes.

"I can't believe you," she said with disgust. "Don't you even—never mind."

She turned and stalked away across the lawn.

"Wait!" he called out after her. His apology was going horribly, horribly wrong. How was he going to fix this?

"I'm sorry?" It came out as more of a question. She whirled around, red-faced and furious, completely shocking him with her anger.

"You're such an idiot, Percy!" she screamed. "Gods, does anything ever get past that thick brain of yours?"

"What the Hades are you getting on about?" he shot back, completely nonplussed.

"Do I have to spell it out for you, or would you _even_ be able to _read_ it if I _did_?"

Just whatever you do, don't blurt out what you're thinking, the voice in his head said. Go crawling back to her with a humble apology and remember—at all costs—stick to the plan.

"Well you're—you're—" he blustered, "You're just blowing everything completely out of proportion!"

She looked like she was going to slap him. Wrong answer, the voice in his head said snidely.

"Why are you making such a big deal of this?" He tried to stop what he was saying, but the phrases were regurgitating like word vomit, making the situation far worse than he'd imagined. "It didn't even mean anything!"

"To you, maybe!" she fired back.

And suddenly, it hit him like a ton of bricks. She liked him. She _liked_ him. He was so relieved that he laughed out loud.

"You _jerk_." Annabeth was looking at him with disgust. Wrong again.

"No—no! Annabeth that's not what I meant!" She turned away from him and started walking across the lawn. Crap. Why did he always screw everything up when it came to her? He chased after her, trying to explain. "Annabeth! I was just laughing because—I mean, it was only—"

"Just leave me alone, Percy!" She reeled around to face him, and in the darkness he could see something that looked suspiciously like tear-tracts on her face.

Oh, gods. Was she crying?

"Annabeth, just listen to me—"

"Screw you, Percy Jackson," she said. She turned and walked away, leaving him standing alone.

_  
I'm a war of head versus heart  
And it's always this way  
My head is weak, my heart always speaks  
Before I know what it will say._

* * *

A/N: Oh, the Percabeth angst! Don't worry, romantic conflict will be resolved soon enough! In the mean time, please please please please review. Reviews are what keep me writing. For serious.

Also, terribly sorry about the Luke's eye-color mishap. I really couldn't remember what color they were—it was between blue or gold, but I guess gold was after Kronos took over his body. Oops!

--JR


	14. Philosophy

**Chapter Fourteen: Philosophy, by Ben Folds**

_I see that there is evil  
And I know that there is good  
And the in between, I never understood_

"I don't get girls, G-man," I said morosely. "Why do they have to make everything so complicated?"

"If she likes you, and you like her, then shouldn't it be simple?" Grover asked.

"Yeah, but now I'm pretty sure she hates me."

I lounged back on the grass, letting the sun beat it's warmth into my skin. Besides me, Grover subconsciously chomped the flower off a dandelion.

"Well you did tell her that your almost-kiss meant nothing, made her look like an idiot for caring about it, and then laughed in her face when she pretty much told you she liked you," he said, chewing lazily. I groaned. It sounded so much worse put that way.

"It was an accident, though!" I protested. "I thought that's what she wanted to hear! And then I really had no idea what she was so angry about. I mean, if she could have just said it in the first place…"

"Ah, but girls aren't like that," Grover said sagely. "They like to test our simple minds. They don't understand that men aren't subtle or astute. Take Juniper, for example. When ever she asks me what I want to do on date night, I have to think very carefully."

"Why?" I asked, kicking away a bee that landed on my foot. "Just tell her she can pick."

"Ah, but that's where you are wrong, Percy," Grover said smugly, sounding so much like an all-knowing school teacher that it was almost unnerving. "If I tell her to pick, then I'm really saying I don't care where we go, which in turn means I don't care about the relationship. However, if I pick a place and we end up having a bad night there, then it's all my fault as well."

I shook my head in disbelief.

"How can girls read that much into things?"

"Because that's what they are," he said, sitting up. "They're analytical creatures. The only thing men analyze is sports. So back to your current problem…"

"Well if she likes me so much," I pointed out, "Then how come she ran away when I tried to kiss her?"

Grover let out a long sigh.

"Don't you understand how Annabeth is feeling?" he asked. When I didn't reply, he clasped his hands together soulfully and continued.

"Well she's obviously feeling very confused because she liked Luke for ages, and then he went dark-side, and now she likes you, but she doesn't know if she's ready to trust someone again because she wound up getting hurt. She also knows that you're the child of prophecy, which means that you might end up dying which means she might lose you too. And she's still not sure if you even like her back, because you've been sending such mixed signals. Also, she's so worried about the up-and-coming war, and trying to prepare the camp for it, that she's over stressed and can't even think about relationships. So when you tried to kiss her, she completely panicked and ran away, but deep down she actually liked it because she likes you. And then you told her the kiss meant nothing, and now she wants to rip your guts out."

This revelation was met with stunned silence.

"You are _such_ a chick," I said finally. Grover laughed.

"You'll learn in time, young grasshopper," he said. I threw a handful of grass at him.

_  
Won't you look at me, I'm crazy  
But I get the job done  
Yeah I'm crazy  
But I get the job done._

I read over the notes in my hand on more time. Grover had taken it upon himself to make "apology flash-cards" to help me properly fix things with Annabeth. After my first disastrous attempt, he said I couldn't be trusted to speak on my own. He had never been more right.

_Okay, Percy,_ I told myself, _time to do this thing for real. Just go in there, and be so full of regret and repentance that she'll be forced to accept._

Taking a deep breath, I sauntered over to where Annabeth was sitting in the shade on Dedalaus's laptop, and stood expectantly in front of her. She didn't even twitch, just kept on typing.

I cleared my throat awkwardly. Her neck snapped up to reveal a cold glare. Damn! She saw me coming. One up for her.

I cleared my throat again, wishing my mouth didn't feel so dry and unusable.

"Hey Annabeth," I began, reading off the first index card. Oops. Maybe I should try that one again without sounding so robotic.

"Hey _Annabeth_!" Crap! That sounded _too_ falsely-cheery. Annabeth raised an eyebrow. I wished I could stop myself from going red but it was a losing battle.

"I'm here to apologize for my crude and obtuse behavior regarding the events of last night," I continued. This sounded even stupider out loud than it did in my head! Why did Grover have to make it sound like an entry from the Encyclopedia Britannica? I flipped to the next card.

"In lieu of recent events—whoops! Sorry, wrong card!" I hastily shuffled through the deck until I found the right annotation.

"It is clearly your right to be angry with me, but I ask you to please put aside your an-tag…antag-on…antagonism! –please put aside your _antagonism_ to hear out my humble confession. Hold for comment." An awkward pause.

I cleared my throat for the third time.

"I mean…ahem—being of simple mind, my efforts to apologize were only an attempt to please you, an arduous task, if you don't mind my saying—step back in case she tries to hit you _here_." I squinted at the card.

"Oh!" I speedily backed up a couple steps. Annabeth's lip twitched.

"I only feigned apathy to di…di-lut…dilute! Dilute your wrath, which was… oh screw this!"

I threw the useless cards onto the ground. Annabeth, who had been staring impassively at me gave a slight smirk, one that she quickly tried to cover up. I took it as a good sign.

"Listen, Annabeth," I said earnestly, sitting on the grass in front of her. "I'm _sorry_. I really am. Look into my eyes and tell me if I'm lying."

She didn't say anything, but her gaze softened.

"Here," I said, fumbling with a packet. I handed it to her. "It's the evacuation plan for Chiron. I finished it last night."

Annabeth began thumbing through it in silence. Finally, she looked back up at me.

"It's complete?"

"I was up all night putting on the final touches," I said sincerely. Annabeth looked back down at the packet and away from me, her cheeks flushed slightly pink.

"You're crazy, Percy," she said finally, with a small, resigned sigh.

"But we're aware of this," I said, grinning. "And we embrace it."

"And it's pronounced dy-_loot_, not _dy-_lut, you dunderhead."

"Hey," I said with a shrug. "You can laugh all you want, but I get the job done, don't I?"

_Go ahead you can laugh all you want  
I got my philosophy  
It keeps my feet on the ground  
And I trust it like the ground  
And that's why my philosophy  
It keeps me walking when I'm falling down_

* * *

A/N: I'm actually beginning to enjoy writing more light-hearted stuff better than angst. It's just so _fun_, sometimes. Plus Percy is such a wonderful character to write for, because he's so perceptive in ways that are funny, but also so incredibly dense. No wonder Annabeth gets annoyed with him.

And conflict between the two of them is resolved… or is it? Don't worry, they'll have their moment soon enough, they just need something big to bring them together. I'm not sure what that something big is yet… I'm toying with the idea of a character death, but I'm not sure I can bring myself to do it. Thoughts?

Review please!

--JR


	15. Hurricane

A/N: I finally updated! Disclaimer: I own nothing.

**Chapter Fifteen: Hurricane, by Something Corporate**

_Shake down, you make me break  
For goodness sake  
I think I'm on the edge  
Of something new with you._

I watched Annabeth paddle her canoe further upstream. She was wearing her hair down across her back and it glinted in the bright noon sun, contrasting with her orange Camp Half-Blood t-shirt.

"Hey, Seaweed Brain!" she called. "Aren't you supposed to be showing those new campers the proper way to paddle?"

Behind me, ten or twelve bespeckled looking kids, all around eleven or twelve floated anxiously in a flock of boats.

I dug my own paddle into the water pointlessly, instead manipulating the currents to shoot me towards her.

"You're so much better with them," I grumbled. "How difficult is it to get 'left is right and right is left'? They're annoying."

"You were just as scrawny and annoying when you first came to camp," she countered, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. "And I distinctly remember you spastically flipping over _your_ first canoe like a complete moron."

"What? No…." I grimaced at the memory. "Couldn't have been me."

"_Guys_?" she mimicked, dropping her voice so that she sounded like a Cyclops on painkillers, "_I can't get it to turn—hey wait up! Someone, help, I just don't know—_"

I caused a spurt of water to shoot up and douse her in the face, leaving her spluttering.

"Hey, midgets!" I called, turning back to the terrified campers.

"Don't call them 'midgets'!" Annabeth said crossly, ringing out her hair. She turned her canoe and paddled back towards the group, demonstrating the proper way to use the oar.

I watched her go with an unidentifiable pang of emotion welling up in my stomach. I had no idea where we stood these days. Being with her felt like standing on the edge of a precipice. There was a thrill of fear that came when I was near her, but I was almost afraid to get to close. She was so unpredictable, so volatile, that I had to be constantly on my toes just to please her. I was dying to figure her out, but it was beginning to feel like I never would.

I never knew what to say to her any more; I wanted to shout, but couldn't find the words.

Unconsciously, I leaned out of the side of my canoe, watching Annabeth flipping her paddle back and forth and talking kindly to the new campers.

Resting my elbow on the canoe's rim, I propped my head up with my palm, mesmerized by the way the sun lit her hair. Did all girls have this weird, magnetic power? I leaned further forward—

There was a tremendous splash as the canoe tipped and I was flung head-first into the lake.

"And that, kids," I heard Annabeth saying as I resurfaced, "Is why you should never lean too far out of your canoe. Can someone help this idiot?"

_Shout out don't drown the sound  
I'll drown you out,  
You'll never scream so loud  
As I want to scream with you  
_

We paddled to a clump of sand in the middle of the lake for lunch. We lay side by side on the warm sand, eating turkey sandwiches and drinking coke. The sun glittered across the water and Annabeth's smile was blinding.

Our conversation lapsed into silence and I gazed out past our two red canoes grounded on the sand bar, towards the New York City skyline.

"About everything that happened…" Annabeth began, trailing off.

"Yeah?" I didn't have to ask what she was talking about. I tried to keep the hint of excitement from my voice. Annabeth cleared her throat.

"I—uh—I think you're right."

"_I am_?" I asked in amazement. Annabeth raised her eyebrows and I blushed. For gods' sakes, have some dignity, I told myself. "I mean—about what?"

"We should just forget about it."

My heart sank somewhere into the pit of my stomach.

"Oh, um, well…" I babbled, "I dunno, I guess, if you want to…"

"Do you want to?" she asked bluntly.

"I, uh… well…"—_NO!_—"…sure."

_Standing there with your smile blinding  
Your eyes from seeing  
My face as I'm dying  
To figure out a girl  
_

"So what do I do now?" I asked Grover. We were sitting on a grassy bluff overlooking the lake. I had given up on teaching, letting Annabeth lead the next canoeing expedition. "I mean, where do we go from here?"

He surveyed me and the look he gave me seemed almost frustrated.

"Well, you like her don't you?"

"Um…" I tried not to go red. Of course I liked her! Why was it so hard for me to admit? I liked everything about her! I thought all the things that had happened over the past couple of months. It was obvious how I felt. I liked her smile, her laugh, the faces she made when she was frustrated, the way she tried to blow her bangs out of her face, the glint in her eyes when she was hatching some ingenious plan, how the light caught her hair, how she made fun of me… I liked her when she was happy, I liked her when she was unbelievably furious, I liked her when she was depressed, when she was ridiculously nit-picky or condescendingly wise, when she was slap-happy, when she was annoyingly responsible… _I liked her, I liked her, I liked her, I liked her, I loved—_

"I'm really stupid, aren't I?" I said.

Grover, to my annoyance, looked overjoyed.

"_Finally_," he said emphatically, to no one in particular. "Well, you know what you have to do, don't you?"

I didn't answer. I did know what I had to do, but the thing was, I was scared to do it. When did I become such a wimp?

"But what if…"

Grover cut me off.

"Life's all about taking chances, you idiot," he said firmly. "Life is walking out of your cabin in the middle of the night with a flashlight that may or may not have dead batteries."

"When did this become about flashlights?" I asked sarcastically.

"It's a _metaphor_, genius."

"And if the batteries _are_ dead?" I asked.

He shrugged.

"Then you should just be glad it's a beautiful night."

I needed to find Annabeth.

I started walking away from Grover, and before I knew it, my walk turned into a jog, which turned into a run. I didn't know why, but something was telling me not to waste another second.

Suddenly, a disembodied voice echoed over the entire camp.

"This is a code-red. All campers, please proceed to lock-down stations. I repeat, this is a code red."

Damn it! Of course we'd have a code red drill _now_. We'd had another drill in case of attack only two days ago—I couldn't understand why we'd have another one so soon. Backpedaling, I sprinted to the nearest safety shelter.

_And the world moves faster than I knew  
__Not fast enough to not creep up on you  
__And the space we put between._

It was just my luck that the storm-cellar hideout beneath the armory was completely empty. When the trapdoor slammed shut behind me, I realized it was also completely dark, without a chink of window to illuminate the space. I groped at the wall for the light switch to the fluorescent bulb hanging from the ceiling, but after flicking it a couple of times, I discovered that the bulb was burnt out. Perfect.

I sank resignedly to the ground. This was no time to be having second thoughts. As soon as we received the all-clear, I would go straight to Annabeth and tell her how I felt. I would. I would _not_ wuss out. I—

There was a small scuff and I leapt to my feet. The pit of my stomach felt hollow. _I wasn't alone…_

As quietly as I could, I reached into my pocket and uncapped Riptide. The blade extended soundlessly. I held the weapon readily, listening as the soft pad of footsteps approached. Suddenly, I heard the whistling of a blade coming in my direction.

Without thinking, I whirled my sword outwards and met the weapon with a resounding _clang_. I raised Riptide, ready to strike again, when a voice whispered,

"Percy?"

I lowered my sword, relief coursing into my veins.

"Annabeth?"

"Duh," she whispered. I heard her sheath her knife and tuck it away. "Is it just you down here?"

"Um, I think so," I said, capping Riptide and putting the pen back in my pocket. "Unless that was someone else moving before…"

"Maybe they evaporated," she said dryly. "Why are we having a code red _now_? We never have them during assemblies."

"To keep us on our feet?" I guessed. Annabeth's voice floated out from directly in front of me, but I still couldn't discern her outline. Squinting, I blinked furiously. "We just had one two days ago. It's a little weird, you have to admit."

"Definitely," she agreed.

There was a pause.

"If you're all the way over here, then why weren't you at the assembly?" I asked.

"Why weren't you?" she fired back, answering my question with a question.

"I forgot," I said lamely.

Another silence. I sank back to the ground against the wall. There was scuffle, and I heard Annabeth sit beside me. Our shoulders were touching.

Now's the chance, the voice in my head hissed. You've got her alone in the dark, and there's no running away. Now's your chance to tell her.

"I guess we'll just have to wait it out in here," Annabeth said.

"Yeah." I fiddled with the hem of my shirt. Do it. Tell her. "Um…" My mouth felt like sand paper. I cleared my throat. "Er, uh…"

"Is there something you want to say, or are you just going to grunt in my direction?" Annabeth asked pointedly.

"No, um, I was…" I cleared my throat again.

"And here I was thinking you'd mastered the use of the English language," Annabeth said with an acquiescent sigh. I bumped my shoulder into her.

"Hey," I said. "I talk English perfectly good, thanks."

She giggled.

"Seriously, what is it?"

"Do you think…" I began. "Do you think it's a good idea for people to tell each other their emotions?"

_But she drifts so far away  
I'm on her coast  
So maybe I should stay  
And map around your world_

"People?" she asked.

"Just… just people in general. Theoretically. Say a stupid guy likes a girl for ages, but never really figures it out. Say they fight all the time. He doesn't think the girl likes him. Maybe she did, but he missed his chance."

I was going out on a limb, but it somehow felt right, and it was easier than summoning up the courage to tell her how I felt directly.

"If the stupid guy figures it out, then he should tell the stupid girl," Annabeth said. She added more quietly, "Maybe the stupid girl is just scared of getting close. Maybe she likes him too."

"Both of them are idiots," I said. I could almost hear Annabeth raising her eyebrow, and I quickly amended, "The guy more so than the girl."

"Maybe they both need to realize that things have a way of working out in the end," Annabeth said. "And even if things don't, well, maybe they should just be glad of the chances they're given."

"Then these two theoretic people," I said, heart hammering, "Need to get over themselves. They both like each other and neither wants to do anything about it. They need to stop dancing around the subject, screw up the courage, and do something."

"Maybe the stupid guy should just kiss the girl," Annabeth said. I could feel her breath on my face.

"What if he already tried?" _Definitely_ out on a limb. It was pretty obvious who Theoretical Percy and Theoretical Annabeth were meant to represent.

"Maybe the stupid girl hadn't figured things out yet either. Maybe she was running away. She needs to get over herself too."

"Theoretically, of course," I said, leaning in closer. I thought dimly that this could end in disaster, but my brain didn't seem to be working properly anymore.

"Definitely," she replied. I could almost taste her words. I felt the soft warmth of her exhale upon my lips.

"Absolutely no basis in truth."

"None at all."

"But if these people were to exist—"

"If you don't shut up and kiss me in the next ten seconds, I will hurt you."

For once, I complied, bridging the gap between us and covering my lips with hers.

Everything felt electric the moment we touched, and it was the best feeling in the world.

_So pull me under your weather patterns  
__Your cold fronts, and the rain, don't matter  
__Because the sun blooms when I need it.  
_

I could have sat there forever, in that dark storm-cellar, kissing Annabeth. My mind was blissfully blank. For once, I wasn't thinking about the war, or even my impending death. I was just thinking about _her_. My heart was beating _her_. It felt like something had finally been solved, had finally gone right.

But of course, like all good things, it was interrupted.

"This is an all clear," the disembodied voice rang out. I untangled my hand from her hair and pressed our foreheads together.

"Stupid code red," I whispered.

"All campers, please report to the amphitheater. I repeat, this is an all clear. All campers, report to the amphitheater _immediately_."

Reluctantly, we got to our feet and I pushed open the trap door and climbed out, grasping Annabeth's hand and pulling her behind me. We were still hand in hand, walking together across the long, empty lawn. Something felt so _right_ about the way our palms fit together.

Someone was running across the grass towards us.

"Percy! Annabeth!" It was Grover. He skidded to a halt in front of us, panting.

"You're…okay…. Listen, you guys need to come _now_. Everyone thinks you're missing."

"Dude, what's going on?"

Grover looked at me, his eyes wide and serious.

"It wasn't just a drill," he said.

_  
So Don't Say  
These currents are still killing me  
And you can't explain  
But the wind went and pulled me  
Into your hurricane  
Into your hurricane_A/N: I am a terrible, terrible person. I realize this. It should be a crime not to update a story for that long. School and life is getting super busy again, but I know that's no excuse. I fully understand if you all would like to pelt me with cyber stones.

* * *

Just because of my inability to stick with my projects, I made this chapter super long and dramatic. And (thank the gods) Percy and Annabeth have _finally_ gotten together! (There was, by and large, enough build-up, I think.) I'm so glad I'm finally going to get to right some cute/cuddly scenes. Don't think it's going to be smooth sailing from here, though. There's still going to be some bumps on the road. (Percy's supposed to die—remember?)

And I know I kind of left this at a cliffhanger, but good news— I have the next chapter mostly written, so I'll have it up within a couple of days.

Review please! I love you all so much, and you're all so patient and awesome! Thank you to everyone who sticks with this story, despite my epic update failures.

Happy Thanksgiving to all!

--JR


	16. Transatlanticism

**Chapter Sixteen: Transatlanticism, by Death Cab for Cutie**

_The Atlantic was born today and I'll tell you how:_

_The clouds above opened up and let it out._

Annabeth hadn't cried. It had been three days. Three days since the attack. Three days since he'd sacrificed his life defending them. Three days since he'd died. The entire camp was in mourning, but Annabeth hadn't cried.

It had felt like she was living in slow motion, drifting in a daze through the grief of others. Some of them had barely known him. Their grief seemed so trivial—how could they understand what losing him meant? She felt beyond tears; she felt numb. Completely numb. Her face was emotionless. She hadn't spoken to any of them, even Percy.

This wasn't (couldn't) be happening. He was the one who was always supposed to be there to teach and protect them. He had always been there for _her_, since she'd first come to camp.

The burning pain built up in the back of her throat like a backlash of stomach acid; she wanted to scream, but was choking on her voice. There was such a hollow, unbearable grief in the middle of her chest. It felt like something had been cut out of her and her body stitched back together with messy, careless stitches, a great emptiness left where something vital had once been.

She couldn't summon the energy to cry.

_  
I was standing on the surface of a perforated sphere  
when the water filled every hole.  
And thousands upon thousands made an ocean,  
making islands where no island should go.  
Oh no._

The day of the funeral, a shadow fell across the entire camp; it felt quieter than it had ever been. They had experienced tragedy before—it was nothing new to half-bloods—but _he_ had always been there to guide them through it. Now, it was as if their foundations had been shaken.

Annabeth watched as smoke and ash drifted up towards the sky while the body burned beneath its burial shroud. How could they be burning him? He couldn't be dead—he could be—

The scream trapped in the back of her throat surged forward and Annabeth clamped her teeth together, biting hard on her tongue. She tasted blood.

On her right, silent tears were streaming down Grover's face. She wanted to find the will to comfort him, but was held back by her own brittle defenses. She felt fragile—as if one word would destroy the haven she'd built to cope. She _was_ coping. She was. Denial was a form of coping, right?

On her left, Percy's eyes were over-bright. The scream rushed forward again, settling its self somewhere on her tongue. She squeezed her eyes shut.

She felt a raindrop land on her forehead. It trickled down her nose and dripped onto her collarbone. She looked up at the overcast sky.

The droplet became a light sprinkle of rain, dampening her cheeks and flattening her hair.

The injustice of it all welled up inside her, stronger than ever. She felt her stomach lurch, and she tore herself from Percy's side. She pushed through campers assembled by the burning shroud, willing herself not to make a sound, grinding her teeth together. Once she was free of them, she began to run across the grounds, past the cabins, past the lake.

The faster she ran, the better she was able to control the howl of misery threatening to be released. The pounding of blood in her ears almost drowned out everything else, mingling with the sound of her labored breathing… she passed the archery field…

He couldn't be gone… he wasn't gone… She sprinted through rows of strawberries, relishing their endlessness, relishing the burning in her lungs.

_The rhythm of my footsteps crossing flood lands to your door_

_Have been silenced forever more.  
The distance is quite simply much too far for me to row  
It seems farther than ever before  
Oh no._

_  
_Finally, she reached the beach, and could run no further. All of the bitterness and loss left her in an anguished scream. She gasped for breath, panting from the run, and then screamed again. It felt surprisingly good.

She kicked up the sand, raging across the beach. She seized kayak paddles and life vests, chucking them as far as she could muster. From the corner of her eye she saw someone—Percy—running towards her.

"Annabeth!" he shouted, seizing her wrists.

"Stop!" she yelled, trying to tear free of him.

"Annabeth, listen, calm down—"

"No, no, _no, no, NO_!" she screamed, beating her hands against his chest. "Let me _go_, Percy, or I swear to the freaking gods—"

A white-hot anger, unlike any she'd ever felt, rose up through her veins, surging up her throat. She wanted to _kill_, to _destroy_ something. She wanted _vengeance_.

"I will kill them! _I will freaking kill them!_" She struggled against Percy's arms, barely hearing his litany of comforts. "Put me down! _I'm going to_—just—he's _gone_—"

Annabeth didn't know if she was screaming words any more, it felt like she was just screaming, all of her anger and bitter loss boiling up through her mouth.

She didn't have the energy to keep fighting, and she sank against Percy's chest. She screamed until her throat couldn't take it anymore, and then her shouts turned into horrible, heart-wrenching sobs. She couldn't believe she was crying like a baby in front of Percy.

Strong arms hoisted her up, and she buried her face into Percy's neck. He was carrying her, back to camp probably. You're weak, a biting part of her said. Where's your pride? You don't need Percy—you're fine. You're dealing with this.

But for once, she didn't want to be strong. She let Percy carry her back to his cabin, let him tuck her into his bed, let him lie besides her and pull her close. Her sobs subsided into pathetic sniffles.

Somehow, his warmth soaked through to her, calming her pounding headache. Everything was broken. How many of her friends would also perish in the war? What would happen when Percy's prophecy came true?

She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she had some way to clear her head. She burrowed closer to Percy. He was whispering something, but she hadn't the energy to listen. Instead, she tuned into his heartbeat, reverberating through his ribs and to her. It's steadiness eventually lulled her into a fitful sleep.

_  
I need you so much closer_

_I need you so much closer  
_

* * *

A/N: I can't believe I killed Chiron. Holy shit. I killed Chiron. I am a terrible person.

To be fair, I was planning on killing Grover, but just couldn't bring myself to do it. I tried to kill off Thalia, and ended up having to rewrite the entire chapter because I couldn't do that either. It was too sad.

I've realized that I really don't tell readers anything about myself. So, for starters, most of you have probably guessed that I'm either a girl or a really gay boy, and I'm going to tell you all that I am, in fact, a girl. I'm not going to tell you my exact age, but I'm a teenager. I also live in New England, which is very beautiful most of the time. I love living on the coast. I think I'm going to start infusing my author's notes with random facts about myself. Read if they don't bore you.

This was a terribly tragic chapter. I realize that. But don't worry; there will be more happiness (and sadness) to come.

In the mean time, keep reviewing, and keep reading!

--JR


	17. Collide

**Chapter Seventeen: Collide, by Howie Day**

* * *

_The dawn is breaking  
A light shining through  
You're barely waking  
And I'm tangled up in you_

Percy blinks open his eyes. Morning is filtering in through the window; a film of light streaming across the bed. The first golden rays of dawn illuminate his body intertwined with Annabeth beneath a tangle of sheets.

Annabeth's head rests on Percy's chest, her hair splayed across the pillow. He shifts slightly, feeling the warmth of her breath on his neck. Leftover tear-tracts trace across her face. He can't help memorizing with his mind the way her lips pursed and how her fists curled inwards, grasping at his t-shirt.

He knows she'll wake up and feel angry and ashamed, her pride hurt, and he wants to absorb the quiet for as long as he can.

Her lashes flutter, and her eyes open blearily.

"Morning," Percy says.

She blinks slowly and deliberately without moving her head. He knows that she's waking up miserable and just remembering why. It's an awful feeling, and he wishes he could offer her some comfort, but he's never been good at that sort of thing.

Somehow, he can't bring his hand to let go of her hip, curved around the waistband of her jeans. She sits up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. He wants to ask if she's okay, but doesn't know how to breach the topic without it being painful or awkward.

Annabeth can't meet his eyes.

"I should get back to my cabin," she mumbles. She heaves herself out of his bed, fully dressed with yesterday's clothes.

He's almost angry that it's so difficult for her to admit that she needs him, even for a fraction of a second, but he doesn't want to pick a fight. That's just who she is, and he should be grateful for any part of her. She leaves, forgetting her shoes.

_  
I'm open, you're closed  
Where I follow, you'll go  
I worry I won't see your face  
Light up again_

Percy pulls on a clean t-shirt, somehow feeling more miserable than he did the day before. It always seems that the moment they take a step forward, something pushes them two steps back. Chiron's loss is a blow that he doesn't know how to deal with.

There's a silent, dismal air over the camp. Everybody seems to be waiting for someone to step up and take charge, but no one does. Even Mr. D is just drifting, trying to figure out what to do.

Percy doesn't see Annabeth all morning. He runs into Grover, but the satyr looks so distraught that Percy doesn't even consider recounting his problems with Annabeth. The last thing anyone needs is another added worry.

He finally finds her in the late afternoon, sitting beneath the same willow where they worked to formulate Chiron's escape plan, what feels like an age ago.

"You don't have to avoid me, you know," he says sitting by her. Like always, she's anticipated his coming, no matter how quietly he makes his arrival.

"I'm not avoiding you," she says flatly. There's a long, drawn-out silence, and Percy knows that this is where a tactful person would insert some gentle, comforting, inquiry as to the grieving person's state of mind.

"How are you?" Nice, the voice in his head says snidely.

"Great," she says bitingly, in that sarcastic, deflecting way he's come to know so well.

"No need to get defensive," he blurts, before he can stop himself. "I was just asking."

"Yeah, well I don't need you checking up on me," she says bluntly. He really hates it when she goes into one of her cold, sarcastic moods, but this is the worst he's seen her.

"I just want to help," he offers, wishing he didn't sound like every failed intervention/bad shrink.

"You wouldn't understand," she replies, brushing him off.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asks, feeling more and more nettled. He doesn't want to pick a fight, not now, but somehow he's already in one.

"Spare me the lame heart-to-heart, Percy," she says angrily. "Look, I'm sorry that I cried like a baby and I'm sorry I made it your problem. Maybe next time you should just leave me alone."

"Okay, I get that you're dealing, I get it," he says, trying not to sound accusatory. "But why the are you apologizing for it? And I'm sure as hell not going to apologize for helping you!"

"I don't need your help!" she says defensively.

"Sure," he scoffs, before he can stop himself. The minute the word comes out, he's sickened with the sneering, derisive way it sounds. This always seems to happen with her; he can never say what he's supposed to say, instead of what he wants to.

"You really don't know, Percy," she says disbelievingly, standing up. He grabs her wrist, pulling her back down next to him.

"You think, after all these years, that I don't know? I _know_ you, Annabeth, and I know how your pride operates."

It takes all his will to keep his voice even.

"This isn't just about my pride!" she bursts. "It's about Chiron being gone, and us having to step forward, and I _have_ to be strong enough! It's about people thinking less of me because _I_ should be the one helping _them_ cope, it's about me having to prove that I can be the best without him!"

There's a long silence. Percy wishes he could take back everything he said before, wishes he could be more supportive, like Grover, or more tactful, like Annabeth wants.

"I don't think less of you," he says softly, tracing his fingers over hers. "Even the best fall down, sometimes."

"I'm not the best," Annabeth says bitterly, looking down at her hands.

"You are to me," Percy counters, "So forget about proving anything. Maybe you have to convince everyone else, but you don't have to convince me."

There's another pause, and then,

"Sorry," he interjects.

Annabeth gives a half smile, half sigh.

"I know better than to expect tact from you, Percy."

They sit together for a while, just holding hands, not talking. But it feels, to Percy, like things getting put back together.

_  
Even the best fall down sometimes  
Even the wrong words seem to rhyme  
Out of the doubt that fills my mind  
I somehow find you and I collide._

* * *

A/N: A cute, uneventful chapter. Some hurt/comfort Percabeth. Sorry for the long wait.

More random facts about me: The language I take is Latin. Most useless thing of my life. I love to travel, but never for long periods of time—I always like going to new, fresh places. I snowboard. These are getting boring. Does anyone have any actual, interesting questions for me?

Review please!

Thank you, to all my readers! (and Merry Christmas/Quanza/Hanukkah /whatever you celebrate!)

—JR


	18. Yellow

**Chapter 18: Yellow, by Coldplay**

_Look at the stars__  
__Look how they shine for you__  
__And everything you do,__  
__Yeah, they were all yellow_

"Not the orange," said Silena, shifting slightly on the bed. "It makes you look peaky."

"Is there _anything_ I look good in?" I complained, struggling with the zipper.

"Well you look _good_ in everything," replied Silena, as I slipped out of the yellow dress and tossed it back onto the bed. "But, like, who wants to look _good_ when you can look hella-awesome-sexy?"

"'Hella-awesome-sexy' is too much work," I grumbled. "Why can't I just wear the green one with the bubble skirt?"

"It doesn't fit you right on the top, honey," Silena said, dabbing fresh coat of acidic green paint onto her nails. "We want you to look stunning."

I raked through Silena's closet, grabbing for another dress to try on. No one person should own this much clothing, I thought to myself. It's like she's got a department store in her cabin.

"You liked that dress with the big slit down the back," I said absently, glancing at a gown covered in roses and immediately pushing it aside.

"It didn't do anything for your waist, though," Silena said defensively. "The Aphrodite cabin does so _not_ do a sloppy job when it comes to fashion, Annabeth. You either go looking good or not at all."

"How about 'not at all?'" I said.

I didn't know why I was bothering going tonight in the first place. It was an even bigger mystery why we were having the Summer Solstice dance at all, in light of recent events. It had only been a month since, well—since everything had happened. Things were worst than ever at Camp Half Blood. But Grover had been adamant that we go through with it—it was a "_tradition_" after all, and the campers needed some sort of morale-boosting activity, something fun. This much was true, at least; with the looks on the camper's faces these days we might as well have been marching around in an everlasting funeral. Since the dance had been announced people had been talking about nothing but; it was nice to see some smiles again.

"You _have_ to go," Silena said. "You already told Percy you would."

"Mhmm," I grumbled. I seriously doubted that Percy would be heartbroken about missing a chance to embarrass himself by tripping over his feet trying to dance. I held up a lavender dress with an empire waist. Silena made a face.

"So last season. So what's the deal with you and Percy anyway? Are you two, like, dating or what?"

I felt my face blushing scarlet and buried myself back into Silena's closet. We hadn't really told everyone about where we stood now, but judging from the hinting sound in Silena's voice they had all guessed anyway.

"We're— um…"

But even _I_ wasn't really sure what we were now— the long hours spent together in the hidden corners of camp didn't really allude to us being "just friends." But "dating?" The word sounded so silly and trivial. We were at _war_; it wasn't the time to be _dating_.

"He hasn't asked you out yet?" Silena said in a hushed voice, dropping the magazine she'd been flipping through. Her voice lit up like this was the juiciest bit of gossip she'd heard in a while.

"'Asked me out?'" I said, keeping my voice even. The last thing I wanted was a bunch of ridiculous rumors about me and Percy. "I don't really think it's the time for something stupid like that."

"Of course it is!" she said disbelievingly, sounded flabbergasted. "You two would be an adorable couple!"

"Don't be ridiculous," I snapped, blushing deeper. "We're not going to act like some pathetic high school melodrama."

_Percy, will you go out with me_? Even in my head the words sounded stupid. Forget it. We could be whatever we were right now; there was no need to talk about "dating."

"Do you want me to talk to him?" Silena asked. "I can get him to ask you out, boys just take a little bit of pushing, trust me—"

"Silena, if you don't shut up I won't be going at all tonight," I said bracingly. "Can't we just pick a stupid dress without turning this into a Dr. Phil session?"

"Well, fine," Silena said, sounding affronted. "No wonder your love life is so dull."

I ignored the comment, simmering silently. Percy wouldn't care about us being "official."

Right?

"How about this?" I asked, pulling a gown out of the closet. I stepped into it, zippered up the side, and turned to face Silena.

Her eyes lit up and she gave a little squeal, completely forgetting that she was mad at me.

"It's perfect!" she cried, jumping off the bed and dragging me in front of a mirror.

The gown was a golden yellow, as sharp as my hair. It had a silk bodice curved a strap over one shoulder, the rest roughed across my abdomen. The thin silk hugged my curves tightly, the hem tickling my toes. Even I had to admit, it looked good. Gone was tomboy Annabeth in her t-shirt and baseball cap.

"I guess," I said with a small smile.

_So then I took my time  
Oh what a thing to have done  
And it was all yellow._

"This is embarrassing," I complained.

"Kind of," Percy agreed. "Look at the stupid little decorations."

I had to admit, they were pretty dumb. Little paper fairies hung suspended above tables scattered with glitter, pink and green balloons decorated the floor, badly taped streamers draped from walls. Grover was DJ-ing, explained the discordant mix of Beyoncè, the Beach Boys, and Taylor Swift ringing from the speakers.

In spite of the lameness, it looked like people were having a good time, which was surprising since I felt like we were in an unaired, bad MTV special. Well, the younger kids were anyway. The dance floor was packed, a group of giggling girls was counting votes for the Solstice King and Queen, and some Dionysus kids had tried (unsuccessfully) to smuggle a keg into the party. But I noticed that a lot of the older campers were, like Percy and I, sitting quietly around the tables and trying to smile.

"We shouldn't have come in the first place," I said. "We could be doing something useful right now, like working on that plan of Connor's."

"You need a break, Annabeth," Percy said, reclining in his fold-out chair. "You've been working nonstop for weeks now. We should just try and enjoy ourselves for one night."

"I don't see you out there dancing," I said, quirking an eyebrow.

"Well, it isn't exactly the time to be causing colossal damage," Percy replied with a grin. "We want to cheer these kids up, not scare them away."

"Good point," I said, bumping his shoulder.

Our conversation lapsed into silence and I found myself thinking longingly of how quiet the Athena cabin would be right now. The shoes I had borrowed from Silena pinched agonizingly. Why was so much effort and pain put into looking good? Silena had curled my hair, painted my nails, and caked my face in make-up, and it was starting to get uncomfortable. I was deathly afraid that I would forget I was wearing mascara, rub my eye, and then end up looking like a raccoon.

Of course, Percy had lit up like a Christmas tree when he saw me. I looked back over at him and felt an uncharacteristic squirm of doubt. Should he have 'asked me out,' as Silena put it? It seemed as dumb and fake as the paper fairies sprinkling confetti on top of our heads. But what if…

_Stop it, Annabeth_, I told myself sternly. You're acting like a twelve-year-old. You have better things to worry about than dating.

"Let's take a walk," said Percy, standing suddenly. He looked so goofy in his suit with the shirt unbuttoned and collar undone, emerald green tie hanging loose, that I almost laughed. Only Percy would wear converses to a formal dance. "It's stifling in here."

I followed him outside, and he slipped his hand into mine. The night was clear and warm; the stars burned bright above us. We started walking away from the auditorium until our feet hit the sand of the beach. I reached down and kicked of Silena's shoes.

"Damn things," I muttered. Percy laughed as I pulled the pins and elastics out of my hair, letting it sweep across my shoulders. He tugged me forwards, my bare feet digging into the cool sand. The soft lap of waves licked at the shoreline.

"Too bad," he said, as I picked a stray hairclip out of my hair. "You looked really good tonight."

I raised my eyebrows.

"Not-not that you don't always look good," he quickly amended, "Because you do, every day—"

"Is Percy Jackson trying to tell me I'm beautiful?" I asked playfully.

"Something like that," he replied sheepishly, scratching his head.

"Well you're not so bad yourself, if you could learn how to tie a tie," I said, pulling lightly at the tangled silk around his neck.

"Grover knew," he said as we walked, hand in hand. "Stupid thing. It's like a noose."

"Listen," I said suddenly, stopping him. From the auditorium I could hear the bittersweet cadence of Coldplay humming from the speakers. "Sounds like Grover finally got the music right."

_Your skin,__  
__Oh yes, your skin and bones__  
__Turn in__  
__To something beautiful__  
__And you know,__  
__You know I love you so_

"Do you want to dance?" Percy asked.

"With you?" I countered, tracing my hand over his. He slipped his other around my hip, pulling me close. "Is that a good idea?"

"How about you lead?"

"Just sway," I instructed. We began to rock slowly to the tune of Coldplay.

It would have been perfect, the two of us alone one the beach, dancing to under the stars to distant music, except for one thing that had been bothering me ever since Silena brought it up.

"Isn't that a little inappropriate for two people who aren't dating?" I asked, as Percy's hand caressed my side.

"Since when have you ever cared about dating?" he asked, his lips tracing my neck.

"Mhhmmnn…" I said. Wake up, I told myself, pulling my mind out of its blissful fog. You're supposed to be irked. "I mean, I don't," I said defensively, leaning away from him. "But you know, if people asked."

"Do you want to be?" he asked, nonplussed.

"Be what?"

"My girlfriend?"

I started to laugh, and even Percy grinned reluctantly.

"It does sound kind of stupid," I said, my fingers massaging the back of his hair. "I don't get why the Aphrodite campers care so much about it."

There was a pause, and then Percy said,

"I wouldn't mind."

"Mind what?"

"Dating," he said. "You know. Well, not seeing-movies-and-going-to-dinner dating. More like…the-world-as-we-know-it-is-ending-and-we-like-spending-time-together dating."

"That kind," I agreed vaguely as we swayed. "I think I remember reading it in a magazine somewhere. Along with my horoscope. It does sound kind of nice."

"Then we are in a relationship," he said firmly.

"We are in a relationship," I repeated.

I stared up into his eyes, our faces inches apart, and we simultaneously burst out laughing.

"Glad to see you're taking this so seriously, girlfriend," Percy said.

"Shut up and kiss me, boyfriend," I replied. Percy leaned forward and captured his lips in mine. The music played softly and the stars shone above us and the tide lapped up and tickled my bare feet on the sand. And even though I watched these sorts of scenes in movies and thought they were stupid and cliché, it was perfect.

_It's true  
Look how they shine for you.  
Look how they shine for you._

* * *

A/N: Yes, I did write the classic cliché chapter about the pretty dress and the prom and the boy asks the girl out while dancing in the moonlight. I couldn't help myself. Hopefully it wasn't too lame!

Please review and feel free to PM me at any time!

--JR


	19. Butterfly

**19. Butterfly, by Jason Mraz**

A/N: Warning- contains some sort-of sexual content.

* * *

_Butterfly, well you float on by  
Oh kiss me with your eyelashes tonight  
Or eskimo your nose real close to mine  
Let's mood the lights and finally make it right _

She's giving him that look, and he knows exactly what it means. Mr. D is droning on some lecture about the newest safety procedure and blah blah blah… and her eyes are fixed on him. Half of him wants to smirk but he controls it, and the other half wants to tell Mr. D to shut up and everyone to clear the hell out because he knows what _that_ look means.

Her hand is beneath his shirt, tantalizing, where no one can see; she's tracing circles along his stomach. Gods, he wishes they were alone. He glances at her again—her storm-grey eyes meet his from beneath long lashes. The look. _The_ look. The I-want-to-rip-your-clothes-off-right-here-and-now look. He quickly pretends to be interested whatever Mr. D's saying. Yes, they're in the midst of a war and people are disappearing daily and Kronos's spies are everywhere but—_unnff_ her hand is creeping lower—you've got to live in the moment, right?

Grover, listening raptly to Mr. D's lecture, leans over on his right and says "That's a really good point I don't think it will work."

"Hmm? Oh, um yeah…"

"I agree," Annabeth whispers from his left. "You'd have to incorporate some sort of signal that they wouldn't understand."

He has no idea how she can give him the look and pay attention at the same time; not even Grover knows what she's doing. Gods, she's so clever; how she could have ever consented to be with someone as dumb as he, he'll never know. She's got it all.

_Curl your upper lip up and let me look around  
Ride your tongue along your bottom lip then bite down  
And bend your back and ask those hips if I can touch  
Cause they're the perfect jumping off point  
Getting closer to your butterfly_

He knows she's stressed, and nothing turns her on like stress. She's straddling him, in nothing but a bra and underwear; she's full blood goddess in his eyes. She presses her hands to his chest and he slides his across her thighs, her hips. She's unbuttoning his shirt now; it falls away on to the bed behind him. He's never been so glad in his life that he's the only one in the Poseidon cabin.

"We're so fucked with this war," she mumbles, as she falls on top of him.

He rolls over, grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head. He kisses and sucks along her neck and she lets out a small gasp.

"Pretty much," he chokes out. Her eyes glint—enticing and sexy—and she lets out a small snarl. In an instant he's pinned beneath her again. He never admires her body more than at times like these—her breasts and curves are outlined in the moonlight. She's beautiful, she's fierce, she's _everything_.

She slithers lower across his chest, to the waist band of his pants. He doesn't mean to sound like a hormonal teenage boy, but _oh gods,_ she's—

He wants this to last, and not just because of what she's doing with her tongue right now. He wants to stay here in her arms, he doesn't want to die, he doesn't he doesn't he doesn't… He can't remember feeling happier or more terrified in his life.

_But you don't fold, you don't fade  
You got everything you need especially me  
Sister you've got it all_

Later, they lie together in his bed, exhausted and talking about nothing. It's nice, just to lie there, running his fingers through her hair, kissing along her cheekbone.

"We're still fucked," Annabeth repeats, letting out a breath.

"Yeah, but you're one tough lady," he counters, "You don't fold for anyone."

That gets a smile out of her. He wishes that the worry lines wouldn't permanently crease her forehead.

"It's just…I hate this," she mumbles. "This living in constant fear, that Kronos is going to invade camp tomorrow, that you're going to die, that everything is going to fall apart. It's so fragile."

"Well if it does," he says, rolling over to drape his arm across her stomach. "Then you've got everything you need."

"Especially you."

"_Lucky_ me," he replies, but his stomach curls with warmth at the compliment.

She lets out a giggle and he can feel it vibrating through her ribcage.

"Damn right you're lucky."

She crawls on top of him, hands in his hair, and she's got the _look_ in her eyes again, oh yes, the look that makes him reach up and capture her lips with his.

"Whatever happens," he says breathlessly into her ear, "Any day with you is a good day, so I'll take as many of them as I can get."

_Cause I can't recall a better day, sun coming to shine on the occasion  
You're an open-minded lady you've got it all  
And I never forget a face except for making my own, I have my days  
Let's face the facts here, it's you who's got it all_

_

* * *

_A/N: Holy god. It has been so long since I've updated this story. I am so sorry to anyone who has been waiting this long for an update! (Though there's probably no one left still reading, haha) It's just been one hell of a year, and I kind of have changed reading tastes. But damn it, I WILL finish this story! It's been 19 chapters (the most I've ever done) and I HAVE to finish. I'm notoriously bad at finishing my projects, haha.

Well anyway, it's good to be back! I hope you guys can all forgive me, applying to college and everything else has made the year really stressful. But all my apps are in, and I'm back for now. Thanks for reading, please review!

-JR


	20. Ruby Falls

**Chapter Twenty: "Ruby Falls" by Guster**

_Tonight, where do we go from here?  
The road through Ruby Falls has reached the end  
And now we're digging in the sand  
They're promising that help is on the way  
_

It doesn't start with a bang, but with a whimper, and that's how he knows it will go out with a bang. Things like this always do. Here they are, with nothing but their piss-poor plan of action, and he's supposed to be the goddamn chosen one. This is it. It all comes down to this battle.

He swerves at another hairpin turn, urging the jeep up the switchback roads slicing into the mountain side. Their "army" of trembling teenagers abandoned Camp Half-Blood, relocating to a valley deep within the mountains, a supposed "secret" location. It had been Annabeth's idea, to feed their position to the enemy through a double agent. They would be found eventually anyway, but now they are ready for ambush and Kronos' forces aren't ready for a fight back. The jeep crawls up the dirt road, miles above the battlements hidden deep within the wood.

"Road ends ahead," Annabeth says, reading the sign. "This is it. This is the spot."

"You're sure?"

She quirks an eyebrow at him. "Your sense of direction or mine, Seaweed Brain?"

His heart clenches, and he wonders if this is the last time she'll call him that.

_Love, confession number one  
Impossible and sorry  
And judge, can you look the other way?  
Some things are best unsaid  
_

They're waiting together for the sounds of death to begin. The jeep is parked at the edge of the ravine; the mountains open up before them. He can see mist snaking through the green Appalachians as if the earth is still sleeping beneath its blanket, child-eyes squeezed shut. It will be destroyed, he knows—these wars of the gods are full of needless slaughter—and the thought almost makes him want to cry. Beautiful things shouldn't be destroyed.

"You okay?" Annabeth asks quietly.

"Don't—" he bites his lip. "Don't let them win."

She begins to speak, and he cuts her off.

"Not just the battle, I mean. Don't go along with it anymore. It's bullshit. Kids shouldn't be fighting wars. Kids shouldn't be dying before… before they've kissed someone or gotten a job or graduated. All this—" he waves a hand, "—all this death, it's so wasted. Nobody's winning here today. We're just killing."

He falls silent for a moment.

"And—and all I want is for there to be a little goodness in this world, after I leave it. Nothing good comes from war, only pain."

Annabeth brushes a strand of golden hair from her eyes, and in it he can see flecks of grey, reminders of Atlas' burden.

"There will always be war."

"Then—then plant a tree, or I don't know, build something beautiful. You could. Create something for once, instead of destroying." He gazes out across the golden valley, trying to preserve it in his mind. An unwilling lump forms in his throat, stinging when he swallows. "Promise me you will."

"I will," she says, and her eyes are shining. She blinks hard.

He doesn't really know how to say it, but he's got to, because this might be the last chance he's got. Correction: _will_ be the last chance he's got. _A willing sacrifice to save another, death's flames exchange a broken lover_. It's her. He never told her that, but who else can the lover be? He's going to die for Annabeth.

He isn't surprised, really. If he were to die for anyone, it would be her. Maybe, in a way, that _is_ creating something beautiful. She's the best person to survive this war, and not just because he's irrevocably in love with her. He remembers what the Sirens showed her, that dream of a new and perfect city. He'd want her to be the one to start over; he knows she'll do things right.

He looks at her, hard, so that he'll never forget. Her grey eyes are crystal balls; they always seem to make his body translucent, like the film beneath a microscope.

"Annabeth." Her name is delicious upon his lips; it always was, sighing through his teeth like wind. "I…"

But the confession is stuck in his throat. He's glad she knows him so well.

"Yeah. Me too."

Neither of them can bear to smile as they look at each other. He takes her hand in his and grips it tight. There's no need for anything more, they said their goodbyes last night, in the silence of the deadened camp, while the rest of the world slept. He's captured the vision of her naked body in the moonlight, her soft skin against his, to take with him to whatever afterlife he belongs to. There was never enough time, as always, but he's thankful for that one, final moment, the exhale before the last breath. The rest was just detail, in retrospect.

He steps out of the car, slamming the door with a sharp _thud_, and on his other side she does the same. They draw back towards each other, fingertips meeting again. The red sun is rising across the valley, illuminating the fog with a blinding brightness. From somewhere he hears the flutter of wings—a bird taking flight— and then there is a clang, followed by a shout. Grimly, he draws Riptide, clutching the sword with one hand and Annabeth with the other, two anchors as the world begins to overflow.

_And now where can we go from here  
When all the morning birds have gone away  
Two wrongs won't navigate tonight  
The afterlife is ours in the end  
_

He watches when his world ends, and is powerless to stop it.

Riptide's length is coated in red. He runs another body through with the sword, his stomach turning as a pair of eyes widen in death. He can't think about it. He's finally learned, it seems, to fight with his head instead of his heart. He's a machine in battle, it's just _swing, dodge, parry, strike_, it's one moment at a time, survival instinct. He can't think about that kid's eyes beneath his helmet, a kid probably his own age, maybe with a girl who loves him or a parent wondering if he'll come home.

_Duck_. An arrow whistles above his head. _Left_. He raises his shield in time to block the strike of a lance. _Slice_. Riptide severs the head of a Gorgon.

Suddenly, the air compresses. The thud leaves his ears ringing. Around him, the battle has ceased; campers and enemies alike are clutching their heads in their hands as the air compresses once more.

It is Luke—or Kronos, Percy reminds himself—striding through the carnage, clutching his scythe in his hand. He is surrounded by a sort of radiance, as if his limbs are emitting fire, and when he steps too close the mortals clutch their blistering skin.

Everything is still. Kronos looks up to where Percy is standing at the top of a hill and, despite the distance between them, their eyes connect—gold to green.

But from out of nowhere, a body hurls its self at Kronos. The camper is masked in full armor, face hidden by a helm. Kronos raises a hand before he is even touched, and there is a flash of light as the figure is thrown into the air. The helm is thrown off, and a mane of gold hair tumbles from the prone body. His heart stops.

It's Annabeth.

_No—no—no_— He's running, faster than he ever has in his life. Kronos advances as she lifts her head, coughing. No—_no_— This isn't how it's supposed to happen! _He's_ supposed to die, he's supposed to save her! He throws himself through the bodies, sprinting towards the base of the hill where her crumpled figure lies.

"Luke," she gasps, her eyes widening, blood running down her cheek. He's almost there—he's got to make—he's- "If you ever… cared, _don't_—"

But Kronos only smiles, a sickening grin twisting Luke's face. His eyes dance with fire.

"Luke isn't home right now, try again later."

And he plunges the scythe into her chest.

_Love, don't look me in the eye  
Just wash it all down  
And judge, can you let me run away  
We're outta here, straight outta here._

* * *

A/N: So this chapter took a little bit of a different turn from my usual writing, it seemed to become more about the horrors of war. But oh gods Annabeth is dead! You people must be thinking, that son of a bitch, how could she do that? I'm unfollowing this dumb story. But I promise—keep reading, things will work out! Don't lose hope!

Reviews are wonderful, and PM me with questions if you have any! I'd love to make some friends.

Cheers,

-JR


	21. Note

False alarm—Author's Note

I'm finishing this story. So sorry. Life has gotten in the way once again. An update will come soon.

Thank you to everyone still reading. It may take another nine-hundred frigging years, but I will keep writing and things will work out in the end.

Working on the next chapter currently.

-JR


	22. Fix You

**Chapter Twenty One: Fix You, Coldplay**

_When you try your best, but you don't succeed_

_When you get what you want, but not what you need_

_When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep_

_Stuck in reverse_

Their victory is a hollow one. It's over, but Percy cannot fully comprehend what sort of end it is. He barely remembers destroying Kronos, felling Luke's body as well; the moment is unimportant. He is the hero of their battle—this, too, is unimportant. Meaningless. No one has dared to approach him. The joy and sorrow of the remaining demigods is not tangible to him; Percy feels distant and detached. The dead, the survivors, the fleeing supporters of Kronos, the future of Olympus—all unimportant.

He has not moved now, since he drew Riptide from Luke's body and watched its blade hiss and melt, since he knelt by Annabeth. He holds her head in his lap. She could be sleeping.

She _is_ just sleeping, he tells himself. In a moment she'll crack open her eyes and wink at him, punch him in the arm, laughing that they made it through after all, call him a Seaweed Brain. She's just resting.

And Percy knows, as he whispers reassurances to himself, that never has he been more full of shit.

_And the tears come streaming down your face_

_When you lose something you can't replace_

_When you love someone, but it goes to waste_

_Could it be worse?_

Percy is faintly aware that someone is kneeling by him. It's Silena. Funny, how she is the first to approach him. He can't bring himself to care or even acknowledge her.

"I'm sorry," she says finally. Percy registers dimly that Bekendorf is gone too, another body lying neatly in another row, another glossy pair of eyes unblinking. The deaths are too numerous now for individual burials. Silena looks lost, but she is not crying; at any other time Percy would be impressed by her fortitude, surprised by the character he always assumed too resilient for an Aphrodite girl. Any other time.

When he says nothing, Silena touches his arm lightly.

"It was a steep price to pay, but I know that Charlie and Annabeth would've given it for our victory. They didn't die in vain."

_Die_. The word makes him unexpectedly angry. Her words seem so empty, so _trite_. How Silena can stand there—talking so calmly—_justifying_ this—

"Don't talk about her that way!" he snaps, and he's surprised that his vocal chords can still work. He's surprised that life can even exist—his can't, his life is wholly dependent on Annabeth. "Annabeth's not some bartering chip for our victory, some toll that we pay to win!"

Hurt flashes across Silena's face at his rebuke, and Percy hates himself for rejecting her condolences, especially after she has lost someone, but she's _wrong_, she's wrong, she's wrong.

"She's gone, Percy," Silena says. "And she's not the only one, and that's how these things work. People die."

She's absolutely insane, Percy thinks, to be so calmly accepting of fate.

"You tell me," he answers, "why this happened. Why Annabeth's dead, when the prophecy said it would be me. Why we spend our _lives_ playing these _fucking_ games with the gods, putting everything in store by fate and Oracles and then calmly _accepting_ whatever happens?"

He rounds on her.

"If you can just sit here, 'la la la the will of the gods, the price we pay' then you're a _fucking idiot_. People don't just die. They're _killed_. They're _murdered_. That's not fate or an even trade-off, that's fucking _death_. She's dead and—and— _and fuck you for agreeing with it_!"

He's making no sense, but he's raving angry now, angry with the gods and the shitty hand he always seems to be dealt and with Annabeth for running into danger and with himself for not being able to save her. He's angry that he's stuck a pawn of the gods, fodder for their wars. Innocent people are killed. Annabeth was the hope—she was the hope for the future and she's _gone_. That's what fate has to offer?

By now Silena's in tears.

"You're not the only one," she hisses, her voice trembling. "who's lost someone in this. And the world does not end when Annabeth Chase dies. Just because the great Percy Jackson was in love with her doesn't make everyone else expendable! We all want them back and want things to be different but it doesn't matter, they're gone. Wishing them here won't bring them back."

"Fuck that!" he shouts at her. People are staring, but he can't bring himself to care. His eyes are stinging.

There's got to be a way to fix this. There's never been anything as irreplaceable in his life as Annabeth Chase. Maybe hundreds of others have died, maybe he's not the only one grieving, maybe her loss doesn't affect the rest of the world at all, and his suffering is commonplace in the wake of this war, but that doesn't mean he's going to accept it.

Suddenly, Percy remembers the old tale of Orpheus and Eurydice. In that moment, he knows what he'll do. He's going to get her back, alive and whole. He's going to go to the Underworld and reclaim her soul. He'll be better than Orpheus was—he won't let her slip through his fingers. Not now, not ever. And if he dies trying, well, life without Annabeth isn't really life anyway.

_And high up above or down below_

_When you're too in love to let it go_

_But if you never try you'll never know_

_Just what you're worth_

It's only hours later that he crosses the river Styx with Mrs. O'Leary, reckless with grief and ignorant of caution. Thick, swirling mist awaits him on the opposing bank—after only a couple of steps he's engulfed in it, incapable of telling which way is forward and which is back. The land is flat ground and the fog encompasses him. With each step he sees only a few feet ahead, endless blank space. Mrs. O'Leary pads noiselessly by his side.

By all rights, he should be hopelessly lost in the mist, but he's not. He can sense _her_—Annabeth—and it guides him onward. Her soul is somewhere in this wasteland, perhaps part of the mist its self. Over time he begins to sense that it is not vapor surrounding him, but souls. Imperceptible to his eye, they swirl and hover onward in a journey towards one of Hades' three destinations. He supposes he's wandering through the Purgatory of Greek mythology.

And Annabeth—her soul is a part of this haze. Her familiar feel urges him on. The aura becomes stronger and stronger, until he can sense it. She's right beside him.

He can almost hear her soft whisper, see the curl of her hair as the fog churns.

He pulls out a small box. It holds within it a strand of Annabeth's hair, several poppy seeds, a plant bringing mortals closer to the dead, and a drop of his own blood. Crouching, he digs a shallow hole in the dirt and buries the box. Now to wait.

It is only a minute before the fog around him begins to swirl, to writhe, to condense. Shapes are formed and then obliterated, hands, faces. A great wind picks up.

In this tapestry of shadows the fog spits out a fully-formed figure. It's not Annabeth, but a woman, wraithlike and white. Her edges blur in and out of focus as she steps towards him. He knows what she is—a reaper, a soul-catcher. An agent of the underworld capable of dragging souls into the cage or setting them free. A shiver runs up Percy's spine as her blank, white eyes meet his and her lips curl into a venomous smile.

"Looking for someone, Percy Jackson?" Her body becomes clearer, sharper, and her voice grates against him like sandpaper. Though she is ethereal, her taunting, bargaining air is oddly human.

He finds his own voice. "Give me Annabeth."

"And what will you give me, Percy Jackson?" she asks. She circles around him, brushing lightly against him, trailing her fingers across his shoulder seductively. The touch passes through him like ice.

"Anything. Anything you want."

"A soul for a soul," she whispers in his ear. "Two can't walk free. But I think you knew that, Percy Jackson?"

Yes, he knows. He knows how these deals work, what a reaper would be willing to trade for. It seemed, ironically, that the prophecy would come true after all.

"My soul then," he says bravely. "You can collect it in twenty years, and I'll be a slave of the Underworld forever."

The reaper gives a simpering laugh, ice shattering.

"You don't get off that easily, Percy Jackson. Sweeten the deal."

"Ten years," he says desperately.

"No."

"Five."

"Tempting, but no cigar, love."

"Three years."

"I will give you…one year, Percy Jackson. One year, before I come for your soul and hold you in Tartarus for eternity."

"That isn't fair!" he shouts in frustration. "You don't need Annabeth here, she's nothing to you, just another war-victim!"

"But you, Percy Jackson, are so very important," the wraith whispers, tracing an icy finger across his cheek. "The Chosen One…the one who defeated Kronos, who sent him back to Tartarus…your soul is worth quite a lot to some people, you see."

She pauses.

"Kronos is waiting downstairs, love. He wants nothing more than to throw you a little party."

Percy's stomach clenches.

"But I understand if you're too afraid, we are all cowards in our own right…"

"I'm not a coward!" Percy retorts. She's laying a trap and he's taking her bait, hook, line, and sinker. He's a fool; Annabeth would've been able to talk her way out of this one. She'd get a better deal in a second. But he isn't Annabeth, and he needs her so badly he aches with the thought of it.

"One year. Final offer. Take it or leave it."

The wind blows again and behind the reaper another figure emerges. This time it is her, suspended as if she's floating in water. Her eyes are closed, her hair splayed outwards, as cold and dead as a coffin. He steps towards her but as soon as he moves the image dissolves back into the white nothingness engulfing him.

"Going once…"

"I'll do it," he says. "One year."

"If you try and cheat your way out of this agreement in any way, I will come for her and drag her back to this wasteland forever," the wraith says. "Now swear."

"I swear."

She smiles, a Cheshire cat, and the fog closes in, until everything is a blinding white and her gleaming teeth are all he can discern. The pressure compresses him and the air begins to ring, a searing white noise that obliterates everything. He's gone from this place, gone from any place—he's neither alive nor dead but momentarily in limbo—until the static builds and he sees no more.

_Tears stream down on your face_

_I promise you I will learn from my mistakes_

_Tears stream down on your face_

_And on your face I..._

The first thing Percy senses is that he is lying in wet grass. The smell of moist earth rushes towards him. He feels the ground; the cool seeps through his t-shirt to the skin of his back.

Sound returns next—he hears the rushing of cars, far off, but not too distant. The city. And then sight—he sees trees towering above him, their dark silhouettes like black clouds against the night sky. Lights—the lights of skyscrapers and buildings from around his patch of green, the street-light above him, the stars splattering the sky's navy blanket. Central Park, he thinks vaguely. Near home.

He suddenly becomes aware that his hand is clutching something tightly—the hand of another. Warm. Living.

He looks to his right and she is there. He can feel her body's warmth. He sits up and, trembling, reaches a hand to brush her cheek, hardly daring to hope.

Annabeth opens her eyes, and their light embraces him.

_Lights will guide you home_

_And ignite your bones_

_And I will try to fix you._

* * *

A/N: Of course she's alive, I couldn't kill off Annabeth. See? Things did work out! Except Percy has now sold his soul and only has a year to live. This part was sort of inspired by Supernatural.

Well, told you I was back! Review pleeeeeeaaaase. It'll keep me writing.

-JR


	23. Marching On

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Marching On, One Republic**

_For those days we felt like a mistake,  
those times when love's what you hate,  
somehow,  
we keep marching on.  
_

Annabeth Chase knows many things. She knows how to design a skyscraper and what the capital of Peru is (Lima) and where to find the best diner in Santa Monica. She knows that her mother is Athena and this has made her clever; she knows how to hot-wire a car engine and kiss a boy well and throw a knife so accurately she could give someone a haircut.

But Annabeth Chase doesn't know, for the life of her, how she ended up in Percy's apartment, with his mom feeding them left-over pasta in their small kitchen at two in the morning. She doesn't know how they won the battle, at what cost, and why Percy isn't happier with that fact. Why he's still grim-mouthed and silent and looks like he just witnessed her funeral or something.

Annabeth Chase likes knowing things. She likes keeping a strict mental record of all the important times in her life, in the news, involving the gods. And Annabeth doesn't like these strange holes in her memory, these odd disjunctions. Fuzzy gaps.

"How'd we end up in New York, Percy?" she asks for the thousandth time. "Why can't I remember the rest of the battle?"

"You got hurt," he answers, without meeting her eye. "Really bad. We didn't think you'd make it."

The same thing he's answered every time.

"Why can't I remember getting hurt then? Why do I feel completely fine now?"

"The healers fixed you up. You hit your head."

His words are all so oddly planned. Annabeth is good at telling when Percy is lying. Annabeth has faced death before; the life of a half-blood is so dangerous that they have all learned to shrug at their many near-misses. Can't worry about it. It must have been really bad, then, for Percy to be so shaken. She's alive, isn't she? No serious deformities, no brain damage. Everything in working order. Just another day in the life, right?

And yet, for narrowly escaping death, Annabeth has never felt so good in her life. The battle seems to have left her with no marks or bruises. In fact, all her old scars have vanished as well, including the last traces of grey from her hair. It's like she's gotten some sort of physical upgrade, or a real-life airbrush. The details of this, too, seem to escape Percy.

"But why are we here?"

"I wanted to see my family," he says mechanically. "You said you'd come with me. Don't you remember?"

No, she doesn't remember. It all feels so surreal, like there's two different Annabeth Chases—the one Percy's talking about, who was healed and then came to New York, and the one who feels like she's just been born, clean and new and confused. She can't align what Percy says happened with what she feels. She's got these disembodied emotions, without memories to attach them to, and they don't match Percy's story at all.

They stay with the Jacksons for a couple of days. This, too, feels strange to Annabeth—why aren't they with the rest of the demigods, rebuilding? Percy says he needs some time off, which isn't Percy-like at all. Percy would want to be with the others, at Camp Half-Blood.

Annabeth wants answers, but she stays.

The days are slow. Percy's mother and stepfather are just as clueless as she; together, the three of them tip-toe around him and his strange sullenness. They have nothing to do but watch TV or sit and talk around the elephant in the room. Percy keeps leaving the apartment to "go clear his head," as he puts it. Annabeth knows enough not to ask to come with him.

"What happened at the end of the battle?"

"You've asked that before," Percy says dully, from where he's spread out on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

"I'm asking again," Annabeth says, straddling his desk chair. "Seeing as I haven't gotten a good answer yet."

"You were unconscious. Someone carried you off the field. I killed Kronos."

"And?"

Percy sits up.

"And? Jesus, Annabeth, that's what happened! What more do you want?"

"Well you seem to have a lot to say about it," Annabeth says, turning away in frustration. "I mean, it was only the battle that everything was leading up to. It was only the death of the largest threat the gods have faced in a thousand years. But 'I killed Kronos' seems to do it justice, right?"

Percy doesn't rise to the bait. "It wasn't that spectacular."

Their conversation is going nowhere, just like all the conversations before it, the same refrains of a familiar chorus.

"I don't remember deciding to come to New York," she says, changing the subject. Her words are laced with suspicion. It's a loaded statement; he knows it. He isn't telling her something.

"The doctors said you might have some memory gaps."

"Funny, you seem to have the same ones," Annabeth replies coldly. Percy doesn't so much as bristle at the insult.

Annabeth Chase likes knowing things. And right now all she knows is that there's something big still under wraps.

_There's so many wars we fought,  
there's so many things were not,  
but with what we have,  
I promise you that,  
we're marching on, we're marching on._

"Is it Grover?"

"No."

They're sitting on his couch watching _Finding Nemo_. It's almost laughable. In the wake of death and destruction, all they can think to do is watch _Finding Nemo_.

"Are you sure?" she presses.

He purses his lips.

"Grover's fine."

"Thalia? Nico?"

"They're all fine, Annabeth! Really."

She puts her hand on his cheek, turning his face towards hers. Their eyes meet.

"Then why aren't you fine?" she asks softly. His green eyes, those beautiful green eyes, the ones she could swim in for days, dart away from hers. He can't even look at her. It's troubling.

_ You think you can do these things but you just can't, Nemo!_

That night she dreams. She wakes up sobbing uncontrollably, and she doesn't know why.

Percy's there, wrapping his arms around her, whispering _that it's all alright_, _everything's okay now_, _nothing's wrong_, but she can't stop crying. She's trembling. All she can think of is cold, cold, dark, grey, darkness, gone, alone, cold…

She's terrified of something and she doesn't know what it is.

_For all of the plans we've made,  
there isn't a flag I'd wave,  
don't care if we bend,  
I'd sink us to swim  
we're marching on, we're marching on._

"Is it bigger than a breadbox?"

They're playing Scrabble now. Scrabble. Two dyslexics playing Scrabble.

Percy looks up from where he's spelling "affiliate" "aflilitate."

"Huh?"

"Whatever you're hiding from me. Is it bigger than a breadbox?"

"I'm not playing 'twenty questions' with you, Annabeth. And I'm not hiding anything."

"Double word score." She marks his points. "So you're saying that it's _not_ bigger than a breadbox?"

"God_damn_ it why do I only get consonants? And no, that's not what I'm saying!"

"So it _is_ bigger than a breadbox," she says furtively.

"No! …Yes! I don't know. Yes, it's bigger than a fucking breadbox."

"Aha!" She spells out 'radical,' taking the triple word score. "Then there _is_ something you're hiding."

Percy looks at her dumbly for a moment, before realizing he's just been duped.

She doesn't feel any better about it. Annabeth Chase is not stupid.

The nightmares start to come every night, but this time she begins to remember them. Swirling grey fog. She's trapped, lost forever, in swirling grey fog. Utterly alone.

It's just a nightmare, right? Why does it feel like a memory?

_For this dance we'll move with each other.  
There ain't no other step than one foot,  
Right in front of the other._

Annabeth Chase knows many things about Percy Jackson. She knows his favorite color's blue, she knows he doesn't like milk in his cereal. She knows how many speeding tickets he's gotten and that he's intimidated by his real father and what his face looks like just after he's come.

And Annabeth knows when Percy is lying pathetically, helplessly, right to her face.

"What happened?"

"_Stop asking_."

'Stop asking' has started to sound like 'you don't want to know.' And Annabeth Chase has never been one for the 'ignorance is bliss' mentality. She'd rather know—whatever it is— because at least when she knows, she can formulate a game-plan, something. She's an Athena—Athenas don't do confusion. Athenas need strategies.

And Athenas are so very good at piecing together mysteries, at following a trail of clues.

The trail starts in her dreams, first with the swirling grey fog. It isn't like normal fog, it's filled with voices, whispering as if from just behind a veil.

A new piece to the dream surfaces. She's back on the battle field. Luke—Kronos—is advancing on her. He raises his scythe, and then—

Fog. Endless fog.

There's a hole in a piece of her life, a hole that can't be explained by anything, that can't even be felt. It's as cold and blank as if it had been sliced out evenly with a scalpel.

Kronos' scythe. And then nothing. And then New York. Percy's nervousness. The way he keeps looking at her when he thinks she doesn't see, like he's holding his breath, waiting for her to disappear, like he can't look at her for long enough because he's afraid she's not there at all.

He's so stupid if he thinks he can hide something this big from her.

But—_calm down, Annabeth_—she's the stupid one, it couldn't possibly be. She'll voice her suspicion and he'll laugh at how paranoid she is, he'll throw his arm around her and say 'Jesus, you always jump to the worst conclusion, don't you?' and everything will be okay again.

Yeah, right.

"I was dead."

Percy doesn't answer, and that's answer enough.

"I was dead, wasn't I?"

Again, silence.

"Wasn't I, Percy?"

She doesn't want him to confirm it, but she needs a fucking answer, a real, concrete, physical answer. She's an Athena. She needs to know the truth.

_You know the truth, Annabeth. Percy's been saying it with his eyes for days now._

He tells her everything. For the first time since they began their endless cat-and-mouse dance of question and answer, Annabeth Chase has no words.

_For all of the times we've stopped,  
For all of the things I'm not._

Annabeth Chase knows several things. One: she was dead for approximately six hours and thirty-seven minutes. Two: she is no longer dead because her dumb-ass, impulsive boyfriend sold his own soul to bring her back. Three: she is in love with Percy Jackson and there's no way in Hades that he's dying in a year.

"What are we going to tell them at Camp?" she asks softly.

They're going back tomorrow, leaving the city. For now they're wrapped up with each other in Percy's bed. She feels closer to him, at least. Things are still desperate and doomed, but it's better now that the truth is out. The coldness is gone. True, it's been replaced by a gnawing dread, but ideas are already whirling through her head of how to fix things, how to buy back their time.

"Dunno," Percy whispers back. "They all saw you d—after the battle. How're we going to explain this?"

Annabeth thinks for a moment.

"The truth? There's really no other option."

"We won't tell them about the deal though," Percy finally concedes. "No one needs to know that part."

"The deal won't matter anyway," Annabeth says fiercely. "I'm going to get you out of it. I've been thinking—"

"_No_," Percy says sharply, cutting her off. "No thinking. We're not messing with this. It's not another adventure or something. In one year I'm going to die and that'll be that."

Annabeth sits up in disbelief.

"Are you—"

"Serious as a heart attack."

"Percy, it's not hopeless," she tries. "There'll be a way! We have a whole year—"

"That's not what I'm saying," he amends. "Listen—we tamper with this deal, we cheat Hades in any way, and everything's off. You die again, and then there's no bringing you back."

At this detail, they both fall silent.

"So then you're just going to calmly going to give in to this?" Annabeth's outraged. This isn't the Percy she knows, the Percy who keeps marching on no matter the struggle, who never gives up.

"If it keeps you alive, yes."

"That isn't fair!" she says loudly, not caring that she's probably woken up Percy's parents by now. "You're a fucking selfish asshole if you think that you can sell your own soul to get me back, and then expect me to sit calmly as you die! You think it's going to be any easier for me than it was for you? That I'm going to be able to deal with losing the person I love? Let me tell you Percy, it's going to hurt me a hell of a lot more to live without you than to die!"

It's insanity. It's absolute fucking insanity. Annabeth Chase never loved a thing, never tied herself down to any person or place, never gave her heart away, and now the one exception she's made is going to leave her.

Percy hears her voice breaking. He gets out of bed, walking over to the window.

"It's not just about me, though," he says. "Or the fact that I couldn't live without you. The world's a better place for having you in it, Annabeth. You're the one who can design it. We're going to need you now, more than ever."

"That's bullshit," she says, trying to keep the tears out of her voice. She's got to keep her argument strong, rational; god she can't stand it when she sounds like a weepy girl! "Why should my life be any more valuable than yours?

"I need you as much as you need me."

She's not pining; her love isn't that flimsy. Her love is fierce. It's aggressive. It's not like the love of silly romantic movies, where everything is effortless and instant. It hurts, more than anything. Loving Percy has never been effortless. Loving Percy is like having a constant, never ending anxiety: is he alright? Are we alright? When can I see him? What's he thinking? Is he thinking of me? What is our future going to be like? It's a perpetual stomach ache, a big jumble of emotional soup that floods her brain and messes with the pragmatic side of her thoughts.

Loving him is so difficult, but the thought steadies her. It's difficult because it means something.

She's not about to let go of that just because it will ensure his peace of mind. He's going to be worried and miserable and tough luck, _that's_ love.

"A life for a life, Percy. It's only fair. You saved me. I promise that I'm going to save you. Whether you want it or not."

He's not happy with that; he's not happy at all.

Annabeth Chase knows many things. But she knows, above all, that she never backs down from a challenge.

_There's so many wars we fought,  
there's so many things we're not,  
but with what we have,  
I promise you that,  
we're marching on._

* * *

A/N: Hmm I don't write Annabeth's perspective nearly enough. She's great. I would love some feedback on the turn this story has taken! It's definitely gotten a lot darker, a lot more serious. I can tell a difference in my writing style as well—it's more formal and descriptive I think. But that probably comes with getting older. Don't worry! There will be plenty of comic relief in the future. We've got a whole year to work with before Percy's time is up.

So anyway, what do you, the readers, think of where _All at Sea_ is headed? Thoughts? Criticisms? Suggestions? How do you want to see it ending? Should Percy die? Should Annabeth, and thus release him from the deal? Any ideas for things you'd like to see in minor chapter-arcs?

This story is for you guys. I'm not much into Percy Jackson fandom anymore, but I love writing. So tell me what you'd like to read.

-JR


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